Just as he was about
to start, his eye caught the two pill-boxes, lying on the turf a few
yards from where he had placed them.
'May as well take what I can get,' he thought. He placed them carefully
in his pocket. As he did so a faint bark came to him on the breeze from
down-stream. That must be friend Jack. He waited no longer, but dived
into the bushes in the direction of the summit. He was congratulating
himself on being out of danger--already he was more than half way up
the hill--when suddenly he received a terrible shock. From the bushes
to his left, not ten yards from where he stood, came the clear, sharp
sound of a whistle. The sound was repeated, and this time an answer
came from far out to his right. Before he could move another whistle
joined in, again from the left, but farther off and higher up the hill
than the first he had heard. He recalled what Grey had said about
'millions' of keepers. The expression, he thought, had understated the
true facts, if anything. He remembered the case of Babington. It was a
moment for action. No guile could save him now. It must be a stern
chase for the rest of the distance.
Pages:
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100