This involuntary lowering of Nick’s guard served the purpose that Grantley had intended. Willard’s cumbersome weapon descended with uninterrupted force on the detective’s shoulders and the back of his head.
Nick lowered the latter instinctively, and thus saved himself the worst of the blow. Nevertheless, the impact of the chair was stunning in its force.
The detective felt his senses reeling, but he somehow managed to retain them and to grasp the chair, which he blindly wrenched from Willard’s grasp.
As he did so, however, Grantley succeeded in throwing him off and scrambling to his feet. Nick followed his example almost simultaneously, dropped his revolver into his pocket—for fear it would fall into the hands of one of his enemies—and, grasping the heavy chair with both hands, whirled it about his head.
His two antagonists dodged it hurriedly, thus clearing a space about him. Their blood was up, however—especially Grantley’s—and they felt sure that the detective had by no means recovered from the blow.
“Catch the chair, Willard!” cried Grantley.
The younger physician obeyed instantly, grasping the round of the chair with both hands, and thus preventing Nick from using it to any advantage.
The detective shoved it forward into the pit of Willard’s stomach, but the newcomer managed to retain his hold. He guessed that Grantley merely meant him to keep Nick busy in front, in order to allow of a rear attack; and such was the case.
While the detective was occupied with Willard, Grantley stole behind him and plunged his hand into Nick’s pocket, in search of the automatic.
The detective was obliged to let go of the chair and clamp his hand on Grantley’s wrist. He was still feeling very groggy as a result of the punishment he had recently received, and a thrill of apprehension went through him.