“I’ll fix them,” thought Rob, feeling in his pocket for his Boy Scout alarm whistle. Three blasts on it would bring the Eagles and the Hawks about him in a jiffy, all those within hearing, that is.
But before he blew the alarm Rob was prudent enough to softly tiptoe to a safe distance. So silently did he proceed that he did not believe it was possible for the men in the bank to have heard him. But the next instant he was undeceived. Rob had been seen, and the Jap had crept after him as silently as he himself had progressed.
“Drop that whistle or I shall be compelled to shoot you,” said a soft voice in the startled boy’s ear. As the purring accents reached him, Rob could feel the chilly impress of a revolver muzzle against the back of his neck. With a quick, snake-like turn, Rob ducked and fairly slid up under the astonished Jap’s arm before the other could realize what had happened. With a quick wrench the Oriental was dispossessed of the pistol, and Rob, master of the situation, placed the whistle to his lips, while with the other hand he leveled the revolver at the quaking Jap.
Three shrill calls rang out clear and loud on the early morning air.
“Now you stand there till they come and put you in the lock-up,” warned Rob, standing motionless as a statue before the yellow man, and keeping the pistol pointed straight at him.
“Truly you have me in a trap, honorable youth,” said the Jap. “I weep for my native Nippon, which I fear I may never see again.”
He seemed to be overcome with an excess of grief, and moved one hand downward.
“Don’t move,” snapped out Rob, devoutly hoping his companions would be quick.
“My handkerchief, honorable sir,” sobbed the Jap; “may I not dry my tears?”
“I’ll get it for you,” said Rob, sternly, and leaning forward, still keeping the pistol leveled, he drew a square of linen from the other’s breast pocket. As he did so, he became conscious of a strange odor in the air. The next instant a dark figure came leaping out of the bank, clutching something in its grip, and approaching them with leaps and bounds. It was Dugan. But as Rob gazed at the approaching fellow a sudden feeling of terrible lassitude overcame him. Dugan, the Jap, the bank, everything, grew hazy. He felt himself falling backward and tried desperately to catch himself. But his effort was a failure. Dropping the pistol from his nerveless fingers, Rob Blake collapsed in a heap on the sidewalk as Dugan came rushing up.