"We shall see," he retorted, then dropping his revolver on the floor, he leapt upon the Hun.
Too late von Secker grasped the paper weight. The next instant both antagonists were locked in mortal combat, Athol endeavouring to pin his opponent's arms to his sides, while von Secker did his level best to free his hands and employ the truly Hunnish trick of twisting his fingers in the other's hair and clawing at his eyes with his thumbs.
As if by tacit consent they struggled in comparative silence, rolling over and over on the massive oaken floor. It was a test of British brawn and endurance against German trickery and bodily weight, Athol striving to deal the spy a stunning blow with his fist.
Once von Secker all but succeeded in blinding his antagonist. His podgy fingers were entwined in the British lad's short hair, and his long thumb nails were scratching their way over Athol's forehead when the young subaltern butted violently. At the loss of a considerable amount of hair Athol succeeded in dealing the German a terrific blow at the chin with the top of his head.
Uttering a subdued yell of pain the spy relaxed his grip, then clutched blindly at the lad's throat. Over and over they rolled again, until in the course of the deadly struggle a charcoal stove was overturned.
The glowing embers spreading across the floor emitted suffocating fumes in the already ill-ventilated room, until it became evident that the result of the combat would depend upon which of the twain could longest withstand the asphyxiating smoke.
Momentarily labouring under increasing shortness of breath, Athol perceived that the effects of the fumes upon the Hun were telling far more than they did upon him. The German's furious efforts showed signs of slackening. His yellow features grew livid. Great beads of perspiration oozed from his receding forehead.
Wrenching himself clear Athol regained his feet.
"Do you give in?" he demanded.
Von Secker's reply was to draw up one leg and lash out as hard as he could. Although barefooted he could kick with the force of an experienced Continental boxer. Struck heavily in the side Athol reeled half-way across the room, while his antagonist, quick to reap the advantage, staggered to his feet. His strength was not equal to his will power. His knees gave way under him as he lurched towards the lad.