“Yes. Who are you?” Jerry asked, though he knew full well.
“I’m Kennedy. I’ve been out on a bit of a lark. Can’t you look the other way a second until I slip past?”
It was not an unusual request, and it was one that was often complied with. Yet Jerry hesitated a moment. Kennedy might be telling the truth, and the midnight meeting might be innocent enough. But it looked suspicious. And Jerry had reason to think that the fighter had come from the barracks only recently—not that he was just returning to them.
“Go on. Look the other way and I’ll slip past—that’s a sport!” begged Pug Kennedy, and his voice was more friendly now. “I’ll do as much for you some day.”
It was an appeal hard to resist, and Jerry was on the point of complying, while Ned was willing to agree to it, when some one was heard walking along from a point in back of the three young men.
“It’s the corporal!” hissed Kennedy. “Keep your mouths shut and I’ll do the rest.”
He suddenly seemed to melt away in the darkness, but he probably dropped down in the long grass. The approaching footsteps came nearer and a voice called:
“Hopkins! Slade! Are you there?”
“Here, sir,” was the answer, and Jerry and Ned saw the corporal of the guard standing near them.
“Anything the matter?” he asked.