The cowboy pulled away the cloth.
"Wily's here," were Matt's first words. "He and the Hindoo had a fight, and——"
"Bother Wily! It's you I'm after," and, with his open knife, McGlory slashed at the cords. "Now we can look after Wily."
Leaving that part of the work to his chum, Matt leaped upward and climbed over the edge of the floor. Burton was running toward one of the front rooms.
"Where's the Hindoo?" cried Matt.
"The Englishman tagged him in here, after heading him off at the door," panted Burton. "I always knew that thug was a killer, and if I hadn't been quick he'd have knifed me."
A smash of glass came from the front room and two of the blinds were smashed open. The light afforded by this gave Matt and Burton a view of a desperate struggle in which the attaché of the British Legation was proving himself a whole man, in every sense of the word.
Unarmed, and with every disregard for his personal danger, Twomley had set upon the Hindoo. Dhondaram's knife had ripped Twomley's coat and brought a stain of red, but the Englishman had both hands around the Hindoo's throat, and they were flinging here and there around the room.
The smash of glass and the crash of the blinds had been caused by Dhondaram falling heavily against one of the windows. Then suddenly, before either Matt or Burton could go to his aid, Twomley hurled his antagonist from him with terrific force. The Hindoo fell sprawling against the wall, and dropped stunned to the floor. His knife slipped from his hand, and Burton kicked it aside while he and Matt threw themselves upon the supine figure.
"Take his turban," said Matt, "and bind his hands with it."