He instantly extinguished the lamp and stole out into the vestibule. It was his first thought to glide by the supposed hermit and escape, but this would cut him off from securing the booty of which he was in quest.
He resolved upon a bolder course. He grappled with the newcomer, confident of easily overcoming a feeble old man, but, to his disagreeable surprise, he encountered a vigorous resistance far beyond what he anticipated.
Neither of the two uttered a word, but silently the fierce conflict continued.
“I must be weak if I cannot handle an old man,” thought the professional burglar, and he increased his efforts.
“If he masters me and finds out who I am, I am lost!” thought John Trafton; and he, too, put forth his utmost strength.
The fisherman had the disadvantage in one respect. He was wholly unarmed and his opponent had a knife.
When he found that Trafton—who was of muscular build—was likely to gain the advantage, with a muttered oath he drew his knife and plunged it into his opponent’s breast.
They were struggling just on the verge of the precipice, and Trafton, when he felt the blow, tottered and fell, his antagonist with him.
“The old fool’s dead, and I must fly,” thought the burglar.
With hasty step he fled along the sands till he came to a point where he could easily scale the cliff. Reaching the top, he walked quickly away from Cook’s Harbor.