He did not stop to think of what he was doing. With infinite slow patience he turned the knob with one hand, holding his electric torch ready in the other.
When the door parted he flashed the light on the spot where he knew the bed stood. The picture vividly revealed in the little circle of light realized his unacknowledged fears.
He saw Strange kneeling on the bed, his face hideously distorted, his two hands at the old man's throat.
Strange yelped once in mingled terror and rage like an animal surprised—and with the quickness of an animal sprang at Ambrose.
The two men went down with a crash athwart the sill, and the door slammed back against the wall. There was a desperate struggle on the floor.
Strange was nerved with the strength of a madman. He could not have seen who it was that surprised him, but in that frantic embrace he learned.
"It's you, is it?" he snarled. "I've got you now!"
Forthwith he began to shout lustily for help. "Macfarlane! Giddings!"
Colina was already out of her room. She did not scream. The three men were on the stairs.
"Bring a light!" gasped both the struggling men.