At the very first opportunity Merriwell made haste to escape from the more-crowded and better-lighted streets. Round first one corner and then another he whisked. Behind him came the hounds in full cry, led by the persistent Irishman, who seemed entirely oblivious to the fact that already he was far off his beat.
“Evidently Maloney will follow me as long as there’s the slightest chance of overtaking me,” decided Dick. “I’ve got to shake him and that mob.”
Nevertheless, not until the vicinity of the Quinnepiac was reached did the boy feel that he had succeeded in his purpose. Resting beside the river a short distance above the drawbridge, Merriwell chuckled over his adventure.
He did not remain long undisturbed. Through the darkness two skulking figures moved toward him, and, fancying they were pursuers searching for him there, he hastily crouched beside a pile of timbers.
The two figures paused a short distance away and began speaking in low tones. Peering through the gloom, the boy made out that each carried a bundle in his hand.
“I’m going to chuck my outfit in right here,” said one.
“I wanted to burn mine,” whispered the other hoarsely, “but I couldn’t find an opportunity.”
“Hello, hello!” thought the hidden boy. “I fancy I know those chaps. I wonder what it is they’re going to chuck into the river. My curiosity is too much for me.”
Suddenly he leaped out and was right upon them before they became aware of his presence.
“Surrender, ye raskills!” he cried. “Don’t thry to resist an officer av the law.”