By the light of an arc-lamp some distance off, Jack could catch the dangerous gleam in the black-bearded man’s eyes. It was no time for half measures. The boy leaped straight at the other, who, entirely taken off his guard by the sudden onslaught, was borne backward and fell in a heap on the stones.
The negro who had driven Jack, scared out of his senses by the sight of the struggle, whipped up his horse and drove off. Jack was left alone with his antagonist, whom he soon found out was no despicable foe.
He struggled free from Jack’s grip with the agility of an eel. He found his feet and reached back into his pocket. For an instant Jack thought the other was drawing a pistol. But it was a whistle that he produced.
He placed it to his lips. Jack, guessing that it was for the purpose of summoning aid that the thief was about to blow it, jumped forward to tear it from his grasp. But in his excitement instead of seizing the whistle he seized the man’s beard.
It came off in his grasp and—James Jarrold stood before him!
For a second Jack’s astonishment was so great that he stood perfectly still, as if carved from stone. That atom of time was enough for the disclosed Jarrold. He blew two shrill blasts on the whistle. From somewhere they were answered. Down the dock came a swift pattering of feet.
At almost the same instant, Jarrold recognized Jack, as the boy’s face, for the first time, came into the light.
“So it’s you, is it?” he roared, with an oath. “You escaped from the Lion’s Mouth! Well, there’s no escape for you now. Here come my men and this time I’ll put you where you’ll be out of harm’s way for good.”
At the same moment several men, among them Cummings, came running at top speed toward them.
Jack was no coward. But he was also no fool. There were six against him in that lonely part of the dock section of Kingston. If he stood his ground he would not have a chance. As Jarrold leaped toward him, he turned swiftly and darted off.