He had the “lay of the land” fairly well in his head, and tried to take as straight a course as possible for the Chinese furniture shop. But this was not easy, for many streets in Port Arthur are crooked and end in unexpected places. More than this, he had to be on a constant lookout for more of the Russian soldiery.
Presently he reached a street that was apparently deserted, all of the residents having gone to bed. Being now almost out of wind, he dropped into a walk.
“I reckon I’ve thrown them off the track,” he told himself, and then, coming to the dark entrance to a shop, set his bag down to rest for a few minutes.
All was quiet in the city. Thanks to the delay occasioned by Herr Schaumberg, the Russians who had visited the German hotel had failed to get on the young American’s track.
Having gotten back his wind, Gilbert picked up his bag once again. As he did this, a burly form loomed up out of the semi-darkness around a corner.
“Ho there! Stop!” came in the voice of a Russian policeman. And he strode toward Gilbert, club in hand.
Gilbert felt that it would be useless to run, for the policeman would surely shoot at him. At once he resolved to play a trick on the officer of the law.
“Thank goodness you have arrived,” he gasped. “Can you catch them?”
“Catch them?” queried the policeman. “Who?”
“The men who were following me. See, there they go, the rascals! I might have lost my bag and my money.”