“One of you is a spy.”
“A spy?”
“Yes.”
“What sort of a spy?”
“A spy who is very dangerous—a spy who will do us unspeakable harm if he is allowed to escape.”
Wynne looked at Frank, and that look spoke as plainly as words. It said, “We must make a dash for it.”
The boy felt for his revolvers. He found both weapons ready to his touch, and out they came.
“Stand aside!” he cried, as he flung up the shining “guns.” “If you do not clear the way, somebody will eat bullets!”
That he meant it there could be no doubt. The ruffians were not quite prepared for this rapid movement, and they dodged and ducked to the right and left, getting away from the muzzles of the revolvers. Even Durant sprang aside.
But Frank had not taken one step toward the door when it was blocked by another form.