Alan's free hand reached for and located the arm that was wielding the
bayonet, and for a moment the two wrestled desperately for its
possession.
Then a key clicked, and the room was flooded with incandescent light,
just as Alan, releasing his grip on the Russian's throat, dealt him a
short-arm blow on the chin with all the power of his practiced
muscles. The gaoler relaxed his tense limbs and lay still, while Alan,
bleeding and exhausted, struggled to his feet.
"Hot work, eh?" he panted. "Hard position to land a knockout from. But
I caught him just right. He'll trouble us no more for a few minutes, I
fancy. You're bleeding! Did he wound you?"
"Only a scratch along my check. And you?"
"A cut on the wrist and another on the shoulder, I think. Neither of
them bad, thanks to the lack of aim in the dark. Close call, that! Now
to tie them up. Not a movement from either yet."
"You must have come close to killing them with those sledge-hammer
blows of yours!"
"It doesn't much matter," said the imperturbable pugilist, "they'll be
all right in half an hour. It's knowing where to hit. If there are
only four men downstairs, we don't need to wear the clothes of these
beasts. Let us take only the bunch of keys and the revolvers."
Securing these the two stepped out into the passage, locked and bolted
the door; then Jack, who knew his way, proceeded along the passage to
the stairway, leaped nimbly up the steps, bolted the door leading to
the military quarters, then descended and bolted the bottom door.
Pages:
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218