No, he must think of some other way of rescuing his companion. And now, as standing there in the street, the knowledge of what depended upon him alone came to him, he was filled with anxiety lest already he might have attracted unwelcome attention to his presence. He looked around quickly to see if he was observed, but the street was as blank, as deserted, as before Captain Cornell had started strolling down its length.
Yet tragedy had struck in those few brief minutes! Bob shivered, not with physical fear, but in the uncanny feeling that everywhere there were eyes watching his every move. He couldn’t see anybody, yet the feeling persisted. Putting it down to taut nerves, and deciding that the best thing for him to do was to get back around the corner and out of sight Bob turned and ran back to his former vantage point. There he paused for another look down the Calle Libertad. What irony, he thought! Liberty Street!
Seeing no signs of life behind him, he started to retrace his steps toward the commandeered flivver, over the route which he and Captain Cornell had so recently covered. There was only one thing to do, and that was to act as Captain Cornell had directed. Get into that flivver, race madly for the Bridge, abandon the car out of sight of the Bridge police, and then get a taxi to the American side and there telephone Captain Murray at the flying field.
“He’ll know what to do,” Captain Cornell had declared.
“Hurry, hurry, hurry,” was beating in Bob’s brain. He began to run.
“Senor, Senor,” a voice called. Bob turned his head. It was the Mexican lad with whom he had been talking only a short time before. “Senor,” said the boy, coming to the fence as Bob slowed his pace, “are you not going to inspect my radio?” There was entreaty in his voice. But it was not the lad’s pleading which caused Bob to pale as if smitten. Great Scott, why hadn’t he thought of this before? Why, he could radio the American flying field from this station, and while rescuers were on their way, could keep the house into which his friend had been dragged, under surveillance.
“Look here,” said he, swinging up to the fence, and leaning across with his hands gripping the pickets, “my friend is in trouble. Will you help me?”
“Senor, what do you mean? How can I help?”
“Let me use your radio to call for assistance for him.”
Bob’s eyes bored into the lad. How far dared he trust him?