"I've got his legs, Hugh," cried Bob. "Grab his arms."
The man kicked and struggled with all the strength that was in him. Bob hung on for dear life, however. He held one of the man's feet in each hand and threw his body across his legs to hold them down. Hugh scrambled forward and hurled his entire weight across the man's chest. Their prisoner's fists were going like flails, but Hugh persisted. The thought of this German plotting against the United States was more than he could endure and he dealt the man a stunning blow squarely in the face.
A moment later the man's arms and legs were tightly pinned to the ground while the two boys sat astride him, complete masters of the situation.
"I'd like to pound his head off," cried Bob fiercely. "Just look at that fire."
The bomb had done its work, and already the flames were mounting higher and higher over the damaged portion of the factory. The fire whistles were blowing violently; some one had turned in the alarm promptly anyway.
"What shall we do with him?" panted Hugh.
"You didn't knock him out when you hit him, did you?"
"No. He's all right."
"Let's get him on his feet and take him up to the office then."
"Hang on tight."