“The taxi’s stalled,” someone said. “Spread out and let them have it if they make a break. We’ve got to get them to be sure we’ll get the paper.”
Bob, behind the pile of construction materials, heard someone pounding down the street.
The beam from a flashlight shot through the night and focused on the taxi driver.
“Snap off that light!” came a tense command. “That’s only the driver. Let him go.”
“He’ll bring the cops on us,” came a sharp protest, but the first voice came back tartly.
“Let him. We’ll be out of here long before he can get his nerve back and talk to the police. Spread out, I tell you. We’ve got to move fast. If they break for the far end of the street we’ll see them under the street lights. There’s no place they can hide at each side.”
The last words confirmed Bob’s fears. That meant that there was no shelter in the buildings which flanked the street. This time there was no friendly hedge into which he could leap. He would have been glad to have risked the barberry thorns again if he had only had the chance.
The taxi was less than twenty feet away and Bob knew that the men hunting for him and his uncle would reach it in a few more seconds. Then one of the first places where they would search would be the pile of bricks and timbers behind which he had sought refuge.
Bob moved away cautiously, a plan of action quickly forming in his mind. He would get as far away as possible, then make some noise to attract their attention. It seemed like a good move for by concentrating their attention on himself, he would provide an opportunity for his uncle to slip away unnoticed and the radio document could be delivered safely back to the War Department.
Bob felt a nervous tension gripping his entire body. It was as though the very night was alive to the danger which filled the deserted street. The pounding footsteps of the taxi driver gradually died away and only Bob and his uncle and three unknown pursuers were in the street.