In a flash he realised that while he had been watching Mr. Seymour the other man must have been watching him. No doubt he had noticed how he was acting for the purpose of consuming time. Martin had never seen the man before, and felt sure that he knew nothing about him, but had guessed that he had something to conceal from Mr. Seymour. What could be done to shake him off?
Martin knew every inch of this part of London, lying between the river and his home. A minute or two after he had assured himself that the man was indeed dogging him, he turned suddenly into a narrow court, dropped Gundra’s hand, and telling the boy to keep pace with him, started to run.
But he was hindered by his basket. The man must have started to run also, for before the boys had gained the end of the court the pursuer was hard on their heels. To make matters worse, he shouted. “ ’Ware! ’ware! Stop, thief!”
No one was at the moment passing in the court, but windows flew open, heads looked out, and Martin knew that it was only a matter of minutes before the chase would be in full cry.
Dashing out of the court with the Indian, he ran a few yards along the street, then darted into a narrow alley on the other side. In a moment he realised the mistake into which his haste had led him. The place was a cul-de-sac; there was no opening at the farther end. He was trapped.
CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH
SALLY TAKES A HAND
For a moment or two Martin felt as a hunted fox might feel when the chase had driven it into an enclosure from which there was no escape.
The narrow alley, a sort of tunnel under the houses, opened into a broader yard, bounded on the one side by a high blank wall, on the other by the palings of square grass plots in front of a row of small houses. At the farther end another wall presented an obstacle which only a cat could have climbed.