The master of the house gave a grunt and doubled up like a jackknife. His grip on Chick’s right wrist relaxed simultaneously, and its owner tore it away.
Chester had involuntarily lurched forward, and the act had brought his head well within the reach of Chick’s right hand, which was now once more at liberty.
While Nick’s assistant held the struggling Graves at arm’s length by the hair, with one hand, he brought down the butt of the automatic, with all the strength he could bring to bear, on Chester’s lowered poll.
He had juggled the weapon in a twinkling, so that it was clubbed when it descended. The blow was surprisingly effective, considering the circumstances.
Chester groaned and toppled forward, over Chick’s legs.
The detective’s assistant was ready to follow up his advantage at once. He wriggled about until he was facing Graves, and then he began pulling that individual toward him by the hair.
Tears of pain were in Graves’ eyes, and he struck out blindly in a desperate effort to break Chick’s relentless hold. The attempt was a failure, however. Despite all of Graves’ struggles, he was irresistibly drawn nearer and nearer. The fact that he wore his hair rather long helped Chick to maintain his grip.
Presently the young physician’s head was near enough to allow Chick to strike it with his clubbed weapon. He drew the latter back for the blow, but his enemy, seeing what was coming, suddenly changed his tactics.
Instead of trying to pull away any more, he ducked and threw himself into Chick’s arms.
The revolver butt naturally missed its mark, and, for a time, they fought at too close quarters to permit such a blow to be tried again.