"Don't you ever think the Philadelphia Boy Scouts are slow!" answered the boy. "Hans has been out in the forest with them, and knows all about woods work, an' signs, an' signals. Give it up, now?"
"Yes," replied the officer, "I give it up. You boys must have a wonderful organization."
"We certainly have," Ned replied.
The three waited for a moment, but no more signals came from the window. Instead a heavy footfall sounded outside the door and a man they had not seen before stepped into the room.
He was a heavily built man, with broad shoulders, black hair and eyes, and a wicked mouth. His face looked hard and repulsive, like the face of a reckless, intolerant, whisky-drinking captain of police in a graft-ridden district. He closed the door with his back as he entered.
"You are Ned Nestor?" he asked of the officer. The latter pointed toward Ned.
"That child!" exclaimed the newcomer.
Jimmie restrained himself with an effort, for he knew that this was no time to engage in a quarrel. He turned his back to the group and looked out of the window into the court.
There was now no light at the window from which the warning had been given, but there were flickers of uncertain candles at some of the others. The hooting of the owl had undoubtedly attracted the attention of the occupants of the building.
As Jimmie looked, however, the sash of the window he was watching was pushed up and a tousled head appeared. Other sashes were pushed up in an instant, and pigtailed heads and slanting, evil eyes were in view.