As the running form came closer, Carl made it out to be Brady.
The escaping prisoner lurched to one side in order to give Carl a wide berth.
"No, you don'd!" cried Carl, and threw himself in front of Brady. The latter, by a dexterous move, put out a foot and tripped the Dutch boy, sending him heels over head. While Carl was getting up, he saw Brady disappearing around one end of the billboard.
"What's run afoul of you, mate?" demanded Ferral, hurrying to the scene.
"Prady!" answered Carl excitedly. "He has proken loose mit himseluf und run avay!"
Carl at once started on the trail, darting around the end of the billboard and plunging into the street. Once in the thoroughfare, he was puzzled to know which way Brady had gone. The fellow was out of sight and hearing, and all Carl could do was to make a guess and plunge away.
He guessed wrong, and after he had run two blocks he made up his mind that he would go the other way and raced back. In front of the billboard he was stopped by Matt, Ferral and some one else. It was too dark for Carl to see who the third man was.
"Hold up, Carl!" called Matt, grabbing him, "there's no use whaling around like that."
"Prady has got avay!" cried Carl.
"So Dick was telling us. It's hard luck, and I can't understand it."