His eyes were closed, his face drawn and twisted with pain, but he clung obstinately, and without a whimper.
Slowly but surely, nevertheless, Chick raised himself, and the space between their laboring breasts widened. Graves’ hold was being loosened bit by bit, but it had not broken.
As a matter of fact, Chick did not wait for it to break. It was not necessary, for one thing; and for another, he realized that it would be a kindness to Graves to end the painful struggle as soon as possible.
Accordingly, as soon as he had raised himself enough to deliver a reasonable effective blow with the clubbed automatic, he struck downward, with carefully controlled aim and strength.
The butt of the little weapon landed in the middle of the physician’s forehead. A gasp followed, and the tugging arms fell away.
Chick had floored his two opponents.
He got quickly to his feet and looked to see if Nick needed him. Chester and Graves ought to be handcuffed before they had time to revive, but that could wait a little if necessary.
It was well that Chick finished his business just when he did, for Nick was in trouble.
Doctor Grantley was not an athlete, and his long, lanky build gave little promise of success against Nick Carter’s trained muscles and varied experience in physical encounters of all sorts.
On the other hand, the convict was possessed of amazing wiriness and endurance, and, although he was not cut out for a fighting man, his keen, quick mind made up for most of his bodily deficiencies.