“Haven’t I? We’ll see.”
Scarce six feet divided the two men, and Chick had steadied himself for a lightninglike leap. He felt sure that he could quickly overcome the unknown man, despite his brazen assurance, if he could grapple with him before a revolver could be drawn, the discharge of which he wished to prevent, knowing it would alarm the house and be contrary to his chief’s instructions.
He leaped while he spoke, and covered the distance with a single bound, dropping his searchlight.
The masked man dropped his, venting a wolfish snarl, and on the instant the two men were grappling in close embrace in the almost inky darkness.
Chick aimed to seize and confine both arms of his antagonist, but in the sudden gloom he missed them. The masked man had instantly raised both above his head, and the detective’s muscular arms closed only around his black-clad figure.
It was a lithe, wiry figure, one that Chick felt sure he could crush and bend at will in his viselike embrace. Contrary to what he expected, however, and which he lurched to one side to avoid, no blow was dealt, no fist fell upon his head, no fierce fingers sought his throat.
Instead, the hands of the masked man dropped quickly and found those of the detective.
Then Chick felt a wire touch each wrist. Instantly ten million needles seemed to have been thrust full length into him. He tingled from head to foot with excruciating pain. His every muscle relaxed as if palsied. He gasped, tried vainly to shriek, and then the darkness of the room was turned to that of utter oblivion—and the masked man dropped him, as inert as a bag of sand, on the carpeted floor.