Amazed at this exhibition of furious strength, the men started back to their places, leaving a wide space about him.
“Good heavens!” said Bulling, his face turning a shade pale, “the man is mad! Call a policeman, some of you.”
“Drake, lock that door and bring me the key,” said Barney.
As Barney put the key in his pocket and turned again toward Bulling, the latter's pallor increased. “I take you men to witness,” he said, appealing to the company, “if murder is done I'm not responsible. I'm defending my life. Remember, I'll strike to kill.”
“No, Dr. Bulling,” said Barney, handing his club to Drake, “you won't strike at all. I've had my lesson. You'll strike me no more. The boxing exhibition is over. This is a fight till you can fight no more.”
The doctor's nerve was fast going. Barney stood cool, quiet, and terrible.
“I'll give you your chance once again,” he said. “Will you say you are a cowardly liar?”
Dr. Bulling glanced at the group back of him, read pain in their faces, hesitated a moment, then, pulling himself together, said, with an evident effort at bluster, “Not by a —— sight! Come on! Take your medicine!” But the lesson of the last half hour had not been lost on Barney. Up and down the long room, circling about his man, feinting to draw his attack, eluding, and again feinting, Barney kept his antagonist in such rapid motion and so intensely on the alert that his wind began to fail him, and it soon became evident that he could not stand the pace for very long.
“You've got him!” cried Dick, in an ecstasy of expectation. “Keep it up, Barney! That's the game! You'll have him in five minutes more!”
“Quite evident,” echoed Dr. Trent quietly, hugely enjoying the change in the situation.