Biff held on. The man, struggling to remain upright, struck down savagely at the base of Biff’s skull. Biff rolled, avoiding the paralyzing blow.
The attacker, freed of Biff’s grasp, leaped for the door. Biff was on his feet, right behind him. Reaching the door, Biff saw the man dash for the steps. Instead of following immediately, Biff decided to wait a moment. Surely Li had gotten clear. Li knew the grounds of the hotel well. He’d be able to avoid capture, make a clean getaway with the pouch and its valuable letter.
When the attacker was out of sight, down the stairs, Biff stepped out onto the porch. He straightened his jacket. He wanted to look like a guest of the hotel if anyone stopped him. From behind he heard the sounds of someone banging on the corridor door.
“The time has come,” he said to himself, “for me to make my departure from this charming hostelry.” He walked unhurriedly toward the stairs. Once there, though, he dashed down them, taking three steps at a time. In moments, he was concealed behind a spreading poinciana shrub.
Biff stood silently. He strained his ears for any sound, the sound of either Li or his attacker. Only the soft rustling of palm fronds came to his ears. He decided to move out. Taking great care to remain in the cover of trees and shrubs—the moonlight was brilliant—Biff moved cautiously through the garden. He decided against returning the same way he and Li had come. He felt sure that his attacker had followed them from the hotel where his father had spoken. The man might figure the boys would return to the hotel. He’d be waiting for them there, Biff reasoned.
“Sure hope Li figures it the way I have,” Biff told himself.
Biff walked in the opposite direction. He came to the edge of the garden. The street was only a few feet away. A few feet, but those few feet were open space, no cover, unprotected from the view of others.
“I’ll just have to chance it,” Biff said softly. He planned to dash across the opening, run down the street, and hope to find a cruising taxicab.
Biff tensed. He thought he heard a noise behind him. It sounded like a small twig snapping. He turned his head slowly. He didn’t want a second attack from behind that night. Now he felt positive that someone was moving in the shrubbery nearby.
Then he heard it, softly, barely audible above the noise of the rustling leaves and nearby surf.