Chapter VI: A Flank Movement

Nick’s assistant did not need to be told that his own position was a decidedly unenviable one, despite the momentary advantage he had gained over Doctor Grantley.

Patsy’s back was turned to his seven foes, all of whom were bent upon “getting” him in almost any way they could.

They did not seem disposed to shoot, and that was the only comforting fact that stood out.

The young detective’s threat to fire into Grantley’s body if the vivisectionist did not relinquish his hold on Nick’s throat took the old surgeon’s friends by surprise and flabbergasted them for a few seconds.

One of them had already pounced upon Patsy’s back and was leaning forward, ready to strike Patsy on the back of the head with a heavy paper weight which he had snatched up from the near-by desk.

He paused, however, as did the others. Patsy lost no time in taking advantage of the fact. He squirmed out from under the man, leaving his coat in his enemy’s hands, and scrambled over the heap of bodies in the doorway.

Before the others realized what he was about, he was in the hall, facing them.

He had removed his automatic from Grantley’s ribs while he changed position, but now he thrust it back again.

“Did you hear me down there?” he demanded.

Simultaneously he produced another weapon with his left hand, dug that in turn into Grantley’s side, and, lifting the muzzle of the first automatic, trained it on the foremost of his foes.

He had made a decided change for the better, for he was now in the hall, with his opponents all in front of him, in plain sight, and the length of the three bodies between him and them.

“Keep back there!” he commanded, waving his upraised weapon a little and covering one after another of the crouching surgeons. “I’m just getting warmed up, and I wouldn’t advise you to make any false moves, unless you want to kiss yourselves good-by.”

Grantley had relaxed his throttling hold on Nick’s windpipe at Patsy’s first threat, but had taken a new and more dogged grip, while Nick’s assistant was so unceremoniously making his way over the detective’s unconscious form--and incidentally squeezing the breath out of Grantley himself, who was beneath.

When the muzzle of the automatic prodded him again, however, he let go a second time and lay quite still, contenting himself with cursing Patsy under his breath and calling on his own followers to rescue him.

It looked as if Patsy had turned the tables about as completely as possible.

If the seven, or any of them, tried to rush him, there was little doubt that he would make good his threat and shoot their leader, which he could easily do before any of them could reach him.

And even aside from that, such an attack could hardly be successful, in itself, if the young detective was in earnest about firing into the crowd at the first sign of hostile action.

The nearest of them, Doctor Siebold, was nearly six feet away, beyond the narrow, body-choked doorway. Patsy’s quick-firing automatic could probably speak twice before that space could be covered, especially as the three prostrate forms which occupied most of the distance would make the going very precarious.

Siebold was armed, to be sure, but Patsy’s keen eyes were watching his every movement with lynxlike intentness, and it would have been folly to suppose that Grantley’s assistant could get the drop before such an experienced man hunter.

Still, the situation was trying enough for Patsy, and it demanded so much concentration that it could not be expected to remain unchanged for long.

Nick’s assistant was beginning to wonder when help would come, if at all. Neither he nor Nick had found opportunity as yet to whistle for the police. They had been kept too busy ever since the need had arisen so suddenly, and now it was out of the question.

Even if Patsy had dared to withdraw either weapon in order to use his police whistle--which would have been a risky experiment as things were--the move would have been fruitless, for the whistle was reposing in one of the pockets of the coat which he had shed when he broke away.

There was Adelina, however.

There was a telephone in the next house, and it seemed more than likely that his wife had grown somewhat alarmed before that, over their long absence, and had telephoned for the bluecoats.

Besides, it seemed probable that she had heard the sounds of strife and knew that her friends were meeting with vigorous resistance.

Patsy hoped that she had taken some such action, but he had good reason to know that station houses are a considerable distance apart in that section of the Bronx, and policemen not as numerous as they might be.

That being so, assistance might easily fail to arrive in time to save them from more or less ignominious defeat, if nothing worse.

Patsy was not so much preoccupied, though, that he neglected to offer up a brief prayer--or something very like one--that Adelina might not feel called upon to take a hand herself.

There was nothing she could do, and he did not wish to have her expose herself to unnecessary danger.

The crisis came unexpectedly, but in a manner so simple that Nick’s assistant mentally kicked himself for not foreseeing it.

Doctor Siebold suddenly gave a leap, not toward Patsy but to one side. The act took him out of sight in a moment, so far as the young detective’s range of vision was concerned as he looked in through the door of the operating room.

“Follow me, Chester,” he called, “and you, Graves. We’ll show this fellow a trick or two in half a minute!”

Two of the other doctors instantly followed his example, knowing that a step or two would put them in safety.

In a flash Patsy guessed what the move meant. Almost immediately the sound of an opening door confirmed his suspicions.

He had been too busy, while in the operating room, to notice whether there were any other doors opening in it, aside from the one which communicated with the hall. It was evident now, however, that there was at least one other, between the operating room and the next one to the rear.

Siebold meant to reach the hall by that route and take Patsy in the rear.

The young Irishman would soon be between two fires, and still there was no sign of the police.