Chapter V: “let Go, or I’ll Fire!”

Without warning, Doctor Grantley clubbed his weapon and threw himself at Nick Carter.

Taking their cue from him, Siebold and the others sprang forward almost simultaneously.

Grantley was shrewd enough to know that the detectives would not fire upon them if it could possibly be avoided, and, furthermore, that they would be greatly handicapped by their concern for the safety of the unconscious girl.

That was true, for a rough-and-tumble fight there in the operating room would be very dangerous for her, for, if the table were overturned or she was swept from it in the mêlée, the chances were that her exposed heart would be fatally injured.

Nick and his allies did not forget this for a moment, and when they saw the threatening move of their enemies, they rushed forward to meet them, in an effort to carry the fight as far from the operating table as they could.

They reversed their own weapons as they did so, but their little automatics were much lighter than the larger revolver which Grantley had snatched out of the drawer.

Moreover, Doctor Siebold had possessed himself of its mate, which Grantley had dropped when the charge began.

The others were without firearms, but caught up chairs and whatever else they could lay hands on.

The opposing forces met about in the center of the space between the operating table and the door, while the nurse, ignored by both sides, shrank back against the wall, beyond the ghastly form on the table.

Nick had fully realized the odds that would be against them in the event of a clash. He had assumed, however, as he was not dealing with ordinary criminals, but with men who would probably be unarmed, and would have much to lose by an ill-advised attempt at resistance, that three well-armed and determined men could bluff nine into submission.

They had failed in that, and the odds were three to one, for Hoff had arrived a little after the others, armed with a big army revolver.

When the attack began, Hoff forged to the front, pushing the young surgeons to left and right. As a result, he, Doctor Grantley, and the latter’s assistant, all armed, were directly opposed to Nick, Patsy, and Doctor Cooke, while the six young surgeons, taking advantage of the situation, wormed their way past, one by one, and got in the rear of the invading trio.

Things began to look far from promising.

Hoff was bigger than any of those on the other side, and he advanced to the fray with a bellow which suggested that he felt himself in his element.

Doctor Grantley was transformed. His face was distorted with murderous hate, and there was a tigerish quickness about his movements which was unexpected in a man of his age and occupation.

Even Doctor Siebold proved to be a surprise. His agility and reckless ferocity made up for any physical deficiencies, and he fought with a whole-hearted devotion that was worthy of a better cause.

Desperation nerved them all, in fact, to a degree which would have been impossible under other circumstances. Their resistance was utterly unreasonable, since they could hope to gain no real or permanent immunity, no matter how completely they might defeat the three who had seen the fruits of their detestable experiment. They could not hope to stop their mouths for good without actually killing them all, and that way led straight to the electric chair.

Nevertheless, their fears urged them on, and it looked as if nothing short of murder would satisfy them.

The fight was hot, bitter, and merciless.

The detectives and Doctor Cooke acted upon the defensive as much as they could at first, and pressed the others back toward the door into the hall. They wished to get out of the room, if it was possible, before showing what they could really do.

Naturally, their three principal adversaries did their best to prevent this, and for two reasons:

One was that Grantley and his lieutenants wished to block the way toward the open air--although they might have known that the detectives had no thought of retreat--and the other was that they were bent upon keeping Nick’s men as close to the operating table as might be, and thus limiting their activities.

Without the opposition of Hoff, there would have been comparatively little difficulty about gaining the hall, but the German’s bulk and weight formed an effectual barrier.

Grantley and Siebold were driven back against him again and again, but they seemed to rebound from his great frame, and to fling themselves upon the detectives once more with renewed fury.

Blows fell thick and fast. Revolver butts met and struck sparks as they ground together in mid-air, and often they fell with dull, bruising thuds on the flesh of one or another of the combatants, or drew blood from glancing blows on scalps or cheeks.

For some time, however, no one was knocked unconscious.

The blows were too well parried on both sides, for the most part, to bring that about; but the conflict could not go on in that way forever.

Doctor Cooke was the first to go under. He was pressing his advantage over Siebold at the time, forgetful of all else, and was just about to deliver a blow which would have ended Grantley’s assistant for some time to come, but just then Hoff, seeing his chance, brought down the butt of his heavy revolver with crushing force on Cooke’s head.

The young surgeon fell like a stricken ox, and howls of delight went up from his enemies.

Nick, who had not yet succeeded in beating down Grantley’s guard, owing to the confusing attacks from the rear, saw red when he saw his professional ally fall.

He ducked suddenly, got under Grantley’s guard, and pushed his opponent violently backward against the German. The impact took Hoff unawares and caused him to stagger back. In a moment Nick was at him. The detective’s clubbed automatic whistled past Grantley’s head and caught Hoff fairly on the center of the forehead.

The weapon was light, but the trained muscles behind it more than made up for that.

The German caved in at the knees and toppled over backward through the doorway. He blindly grasped Doctor Grantley as the blow fell, and so dragged his employer with him.

Quick to see his advantage, Nick sprang after them, determined to put Grantley out of commission as well. Siebold managed to trip him, however, and, at the same time, one of the other doctors brought a chair down on the back of his head.

The blow might easily have been fatal had Nick been standing erect at the time, but he had already started to pitch forward, thanks to Siebold’s trick.

In spite of that, the whirling chair, which was a heavy one, knocked the detective senseless, and he fell, a dead weight, upon Grantley and Hoff.

The latter was unconscious, but Grantley had been frantically trying to wriggle out of Hoff’s arms when Nick landed on him.

Immediately he turned his attention to the detective, and, from underneath, clamped his long, bony fingers about the helpless detective’s neck and began choking the life out of him.

Patsy Garvan was now the only representative of his side who was still on his feet, and no less than seven enemies ringed him around.

His keen eyes detected his chief’s danger, however, and he started to Nick’s aid at once.

He never knew how he escaped the clutches of his opponents, or kept in the game under the rain of their blows. Nevertheless, he did so, and he not only did that, but also succeeded in driving forward until he was crouching over the pile of prostrate forms in the doorway.

“No you don’t!” he ejaculated, bending over and poking the muzzle of his automatic under Nick and into Grantley’s side. “Let go, or I’ll fire!”