Bob couldn’t help shouting a warning.
“Keep away; he’s desperate!”
The answer to that was another shot into the desks where he had been hiding and Bob knew that the man felt sure he was still hiding there.
There was a sudden silence in the corridor and Bob knew that his uncle and the police were conferring on the best way to break into the room. As he listened he saw the man near the door moving, backing down into the room where Bob was hiding and if he kept on coming he would pass within a foot or less of Bob.
Bob felt his muscles tightening and he breathed deeply. If he could only disable the unknown, it would solve what promised to become a highly dangerous situation.
The man was coming noiselessly, in his stocking feet, his head cocked toward the door where he listened for some further move.
A yard, two feet and now only inches separated them. Bob was ready. His hands shot out and caught the other man in a steelly grasp that choked an involuntary cry from him. At the same time Bob kicked with all of his strength. The blow caught the other man behind the knees and Bob could feel him crumpling.
The gun, which he had feared the most, clattered to the floor and they were on equal terms, ready now to fight hand to hand.
As they fell the other man twisted about and Bob knew that his adversary was no weakling. He could feel the muscles of the other man’s arms tightening and a short, sickening blow that started at the floor caught him on the chin.
Bob was weak all over for a moment, an interval just long enough to give the other a chance to collect his wits. Then Bob was at him again, his arms held in close, his fists raining blows like a trip hammer. They were hard, fierce jabs that would have rocked an ordinary man to sleep in less than ten seconds. He heard the other gasp as a right caught him in the midriff, but he came back for more.