Someone had fallen on top of him, someone had tackled him tight about the knees, a regular football tackle.
There was a babel of voices. Someone shouted, “We’ve got him all right!”
Ben tried to speak, to explain. “Hold on there!” he grunted.
But someone else was explaining. He heard someone say, “We heard the yells, and we came in at the side door, and we saw this fellow dashing for the front door.”
Then Ben heard Fitzhugh’s voice. “Well, he won’t get away now,” Fitzhugh said. “Suppose you let him up.”
The fellow who had made the tackle released Ben’s knees and Ben turned around and sat up.
“My eye! If it isn’t Ben Sully!”
Ben saw Tom and Lanky Larry staring at him in wide-eyed wonder.
“Of course it is, Tom, you goat!” Ben responded. “Who did you think it was?”
“We thought you were one of the men we tracked here from the cove,” said Tom. “They wore cloaks and hats like yours; and you did look as if you were trying to escape.”