It was a battle to be fought out with bare hands.

Twice Westcott struck, his clenched fist bringing blood, but Lacy clung to him, one hand twisted in his neck-band, the other viciously forcing back his head.
Unable to release the grip, Westcott gave back, bending until his adversary was beyond balance; then, suddenly straightening, hurled the fellow sidewise.

But by now Beaton, dazed and confused, was upon his feet.

With the bellow of a wild bull he flung himself on the struggling men, forcing Lacy aside, and smashing into Westcott with all the strength of his body.

The impetus sent all three crashing to the floor.
Excited voices sounded without; then blows resounded against the wood of the locked door, but the three men were oblivious to all but their own struggle.