He backed slowly away, brushing tack the dishevelled hair from his eyes, watching them warily, every animal instinct on the alert.
Mike took one comprehensive glance at the scene, at the overturned chair, the half-open window, the trapped man crouching motionless against the further wall.

The meaning of it all was plain, and his bar-room training gave quick insight as to the part he was to play.

He spoke gruffly out into the dark of the hall behind him, an order to some one concealed there; then shut the door tightly, and faced West, his head lowered like a bull about to charge.

West understood; he was locked in to fight it out--three against one.

Hobart was nearest to him, his face swollen and red, his eyes ugly slits, with teeth snarling between thin lips.