"I'll go and get my breakfast, then, sir," he said. "I'll come on to Ealing later. Though, of course, they know all I can tell them already."
"All right," said the officer, indifferently.
"You're never going to let him go!" exclaimed Harry, aghast. "Don't you know he'll never come back?"
"All the better for you, if he doesn't," said the officer. "That's enough of your lip, my lad. Keep a quiet tongue in your head. Remember you're a prisoner, and don't try giving orders to me."
[CHAPTER VII–THE TRAP]
The bullet that sang over their heads effectually broke up the threatened trouble between Dick Mercer and Jack Young on one side, and the telephone linemen on the other. With one accord they obeyed that guttural order, "Hands oop!"
They had been so interested in one another and in the cut wire that none of them had noticed the practically noiseless approach of a great grey motor car, with all lights out, that had stolen up on them. But now, with a groan, Dick and Jack both knew it for one of the Bray Park cars. So, after all, Dick's flight had been in vain. He had escaped the guards of Bray Park once, only to walk straight into this new trap. And, worst of all, there would be no Jack Young outside to help this time, for Jack was a captive, too. Only–he was not!
At the thought Dick had turned, to discover that Jack was not beside him. It was very dark, but in a moment he caught the tiniest movement over by the hedge, and saw a spot a little darker than the rest of the ground about it. Jack, he saw at once, had taken the one faint chance there was, dropped down, and crawled away, trusting that their captors had not counted their party, and might not miss one boy.
Just in time he slipped through a hole in the hedge. The next moment one of the headlights of the grey motor flashed out, almost blinding the three of them, as they held up their hands. In its light four men, well armed with revolvers, were revealed. "Donnerwetter!" said one. "I made sure there were four of them! So! Vell, it is enough. Into the car with them!"
No pretence about this chap! He was German, and didn't care who knew it. He was unlike the man who had disguised himself as an English officer, at the house of the heliograph, but had betrayed himself and set this whole train of adventure going by his single slip and fall from idiomatic English that Harry Fleming's sharp ears had caught. Dick, was thrilled, somehow, even while he was being roughly bundled toward the motor. If these fellows were as bold as this, cutting telephone wires, running about without lights, giving up all secrecy and pretence, it must mean that the occasion for which they had come was nearly over. It must mean that their task, whatever it might be, was nearly accomplished–the blow they had come to strike was about ready to be driven home.