The fight was hot, bitter, and merciless.
The detectives and Doctor Cooke acted upon the defensive as much as they could at first, and pressed the others back toward the door into the hall. They wished to get out of the room, if it was possible, before showing what they could really do.
Naturally, their three principal adversaries did their best to prevent this, and for two reasons:
One was that Grantley and his lieutenants wished to block the way toward the open air—although they might have known that the detectives had no thought of retreat—and the other was that they were bent upon keeping Nick’s men as close to the operating table as might be, and thus limiting their activities.
Without the opposition of Hoff, there would have been comparatively little difficulty about gaining the hall, but the German’s bulk and weight formed an effectual barrier.
Grantley and Siebold were driven back against him again and again, but they seemed to rebound from his great frame, and to fling themselves upon the detectives once more with renewed fury.
Blows fell thick and fast. Revolver butts met and struck sparks as they ground together in mid-air, and often they fell with dull, bruising thuds on the flesh of one or another of the combatants, or drew blood from glancing blows on scalps or cheeks.
For some time, however, no one was knocked unconscious.
The blows were too well parried on both sides, for the most part, to bring that about; but the conflict could not go on in that way forever.
Doctor Cooke was the first to go under. He was pressing his advantage over Siebold at the time, forgetful of all else, and was just about to deliver a blow which would have ended Grantley’s assistant for some time to come, but just then Hoff, seeing his chance, brought down the butt of his heavy revolver with crushing force on Cooke’s head.