Tom ducked, and escaped its fall; but it pinned one of his foes to the ground, and his own hands were immediately free.
With a bound like that of a tiger, and a roar like that of a wounded lion, he sprang, or rather flew, at Montacute, flung him over backwards upon the floor, and pinned him by the throat, uttering all the while a savage sort of growling sound, like a wild beast in its fury.
The light was thrown over in this strange melee; the room was plunged in darkness.

The two men upon the floor lay struggling together in a terrible silence, only broken by Tom's fierce snarlings, that seemed scarce human.

So terrified were the remaining two men, that they could do nothing for the assistance of their master; indeed, they hardly knew what was happening to him.
They set up a shouting for aid, half afraid to stir lest the whole house should come falling about their ears.
There were steps in the room below.

Footsteps mounted the stairs.
The door was thrown open, a shaft of light streamed in, and a calm, full voice demanded in the French tongue: "What, in the name of all the saints, is this ?" "Holy father, he is murdering our master!" suddenly cried one of the men, recovering from his stupor of terror, and seeing now how Tom's great hands were gripping the throat of Sir James.
Montacute's face was purple.

His eyes seemed to be starting from their sockets.