“That’s where he was hit,” she whispered.
“Yes,” assented Neale.
By this time Hal had reached the scene and he and Neale lifted Luke up, intending to carry him to the kitchen. But now he opened his eyes and said weakly:
“I’m all right. Just a bit stunned—for a—minute. Did you—get—those—fellows?”
“What fellows?” asked Hal quickly, looking about the cellar.
“Some man with a club struck Luke down,” explained Neale. “We just saw it—that’s all.”
Luke’s brain, momentarily stunned by the blow, was rapidly clearing. He was firmer on his feet.
“See that those fellows don’t get out!” he gasped. “Guard the back door, boys, and then telephone for the police!”
“We’re going to take care of you first!” insisted Neale. “We’ll get you upstairs and then we’ll look after these fellows. I fancy they have gotten away, anyhow. They wouldn’t stay after striking you.”
This seemed to be the case, for when Luke had been assisted upstairs and when Neale and Hal, with Uncle Rufus’ help, had made an investigation in the cellar no trace of the man who had struck the collegian could be found.