A dark figure travelling low and swift, as of a man doubled over, could be discerned faintly against the waving grasses to the north. A moment more and it disappeared.
The landscape which they overlooked was one of the most broken stretches on all Montauk. It was like an Indian-mound burial-place hugely magnified, with thick patches of vegetation scattered between the mounds. Despite the difficulties of the situation, Dick’s mind was made up at once. They must capture the juggler.
“Ev! Professor! Mr. Johnston!” he called.
The others hurried to him; there was no mistaking the anxiety in his voice.
“Miss Ravenden has just seen a man coming toward us over the downs,” he explained rapidly. “I think it is the juggler. We must get him. Which of you have pistols?”
“Just my luck! I left mine home,” groaned Everard.
“Although I have no firearms, the loaded butt of my capturing net is not a despicable weapon,” said Professor Ravenden, brandishing it scientifically.
Johnston produced a revolver. His own weapon Dick handed to Professor Ravenden, saying:
“I’ll trade for your loaded club. You’re the best shot of us, Professor. Please stay here and guard the girls. Ev, you go to the west along that ridge and keep a sharp lookout. Don’t let him get near enough to throw his knife, but draw him that way if you can. Mr. Johnston, take the east. Don’t shoot unless he attacks you or I call for help. I’ll go down the ravine and stop him.”
Dolly Ravenden started forward.