Yet it was this that saved him.

Crazed as he was, madly as his brain whirled in the fierce struggle, his long training held supreme--he knew how to fight, remembered instinctively every trick and guard.

Again and again his clinched fist reached its mark, and slowly he broke away from clutching hands, and regained his feet.

It was a terrific struggle, but luck, as well as skill, was with him.

The next he knew, out of the red ruck, was that he had Hobart by the throat, jammed against the wall, with fingers clinched in the throat.