He rolled over like a panther, and in a second had his assailant by the collar of his pajamas. It was not the detective’s desire to hurt the young man. The thing was to escape from the bedchamber without being recognized.
It was hardly likely that his identity was suspected. His disguise was so good that nothing of his real personality could show through it, and no one in the house had any reason to suppose he and Chick were near Milmarsh.
The two men who had crashed into the room—and who had been summoned by an electric bell sounded by a push button from the bed—were the two liveried men—Kelly and Dobbs—who had cleared away the cloth and glasses from the dining table, but who were without their coats when they broke in.
It was these two men with whom Chick was engaged in the darkness while his chief dealt with the occupant of the bed.
“You’ll spring ghosts on me, will you?” mumbled Nick’s adversary, trying to break loose. “I’ll give you something that will make you wish you were a ghost.”
Nick was obliged to admire the pluck and determination of the man. It seemed to him just what the real Howard Milmarsh would do, and it made the affair more complicated than ever to his mind.
There was a second crash at the other end of the room, followed by a grunt of satisfaction which Nick knew was in the tone of his assistant and which indicated that he was the victor.
But he could not say anything, for fear of betraying himself. He had resolved that, at all odds, he must hide from this man who was fighting so hard to get away from him that he had been followed into his very bedroom by one who was resolved that the actual Howard Milmarsh should have his rights.
“Somebody coming outside!” Chick squealed, hiding his real voice most effectively. “Which way?”