“He’ll have to come ashore somewhere,” said another one of the trio. “The current is carrying him down toward the bridge. Keep watch of him. We’ll nab him when he tries to get out.”
“I’m afraid they will,” thought the boy. “I’m still in a nasty scrape. What’ll I do?”
Suddenly he flung up his arms and uttered a painful cry for help.
“Cramps! cramps!” he shouted, floundering and splashing in the current which was sweeping him toward the bridge. “Help! quick! Ah——”
Down he went, the water seeming to cut short that last gasping cry for assistance.
“The poor devil is drowning,” chattered one of the officers.
“He’s gone!” cried another.
“And Oi nivver aven put the weight of me hand on him,” muttered Maloney regretfully.
The dark current swept on into the black shadows, beneath the bridge, but they watched in vain for the fugitive to rise to the surface.
“He’s gone,” muttered Dennis. “Oi’ll howld no grudge. May the saints rest his sowl.”