The footsteps grew louder, then drew to a stop. A pause, and then he heard the mumble of a voice from behind the door. Somebody was talking over the telephone in there—of that Bill felt sure. But the voice was too low for him to distinguish the words. Curiosity impelled Bill to risk pulling the door open half an inch, and he peered through the crack into the space beyond.
Instantly the voice ceased. The place was pitch dark, and though Bill stared till his eye-balls ached, he could see nothing. Then in the inky blackness he heard a slight rustle. What was the man doing? Even though Bill had used the utmost care in opening the door, this stranger must have heard him. Glued to the crack, he closed his eyes and listened.
At first he heard nothing—then it came again—a faint rustle. It was nearer now—almost at the door. Somebody or something was moving stealthily toward him.
Bill drew back and none too soon. Bang! A heavy body crashed against the farther side of the door. It slammed open and back against the cellar wall with a crash loud enough to wake the dead. Bill had just time to realize that had he remained at the crack he would have had a nasty blow, when sinewy arms gripped him and he found himself fighting for his life.
Chapter XI
FROM BAD TO WORSE
With unerring skill, the more amazing because of the inky darkness, Bill’s opponent grasped his right wrist, twisted it and the automatic dropped to the floor. The flashlight Bill had discarded at the man’s first spring. In vain he sought to slip his free hand beneath the other’s armpit to try for a half-Nelson or some other effective hold. The man was as sinewy and lithe as a snake, and blocked Bill’s every move. He tried jiu jitsu, but here again he was foiled; and only with the greatest difficulty was he able to keep those tenacious hands from his throat.
Panting and straining, the two swayed back and forth, crashing into packing cases, banging into walls, their hot breath on each other’s faces—twisting, slipping, recovering—and drenched in perspiration from their terrific exertions.
Then, in one of his lunges, Bill stepped on the electric torch—and instantly a dim glow spread along the floor and threw their figures and faces into relief against the gloom.
“Bill Bolton!” gasped the stranger, and released him.
“Osceola!”