Suddenly Guy drew from his pocket a whistle, on which he blew a loud and shrill blast.
“It’s the Altruists’ whistle, sir,” he explained briefly. “Of course we won’t wait, but if there are any of ‘Ours’ about, they’ll turn up and help.”
“Thanks, lad,” said the Doctor. “We’ll pray as we go that Max has escaped from that scoundrel.”
“He wouldn’t try,” said Guy simply, “while Polly was about.”
“You’re right,” said the Doctor, and they sped on.
Guy’s whistle roused the echoes. Down the garden-paths and the shadowy drives of the larger dwellings of Woodend rushed a half-score of Altruists, responsive to the well-known signal, and eager to know what had brought it forth. For this particular whistle was never used save when opportunity offered for the Society’s members to justify their motto, “Help Others”. The running boys soon caught up the Doctor and Guy, and heard from the latter, in his breathless undertones, what the signal had meant. The lads felt themselves in sufficient force to deliver Max from any danger; and as the village road was now empty of all save stragglers hieing homeward, they attracted no particular attention.
“There’s Harry the Giant!” exclaimed Frank Temple, who ran beside Guy just in the Doctor’s wake. “He might be of use—I’ll bring him.”
The name of Max sufficed for Harry, who attached himself willingly to the little group of boys. Then in silence they followed the Doctor out of the village, along the uphill country road, and so into the long, dark lane, which Polly’s description had enabled Dr. Brenton to identify. Half-way up the lane they came upon Max, lying, as Baker had left him, in the deep shadow of the trees.
All the lads waited silently while the father knelt down to examine his son.
“I think he is alive, Guy,” said Dr. Brenton presently, while he turned to his young allies a white and agonized face; “if he is, that’s the most I can say—and I’m not sure yet. Come, you all cared for him; you shall help me to carry him home.”