“Come on!” she whispered. “I want to see—” She did not finish. What did she want to see? Perhaps she did not know.
She saw sooner than she wished. The woman had turned a corner. As they appeared, rounding that same corner, she made a sudden movement. Something bright gleamed in her hand. In the nick of time Mary dropped flat. There was a flash, and a report, then a scream.
Neither Mary nor Judy had screamed, though Judy would have done so had she not lost her voice. It was that woman who had screamed. Little wonder, for a white man darting from a corner had knocked the gun from her hand, then had made a grab for her.
Quicker than any cat, she bent low to escape his grasp, then vanished into a dark and narrow street.
After bending over to pick up the woman’s pistol, the man walked toward the girls in long strides.
“She almost got you that time, miss,” he spoke gruffly. “Now, what would nice girls like you be doing in such a place as this? And one of you in uniform!”
“Say!” His tone changed. “You don’t happen to be the young lady who helped bring that quinine from America?”
“That’s who I am,” Mary admitted.
“Say! You’re a real hero! Shake!” He gripped her hand until it hurt.
“Here,” he said, “take this gun. You may need it.” He held out the pistol.