The window slid open a foot—another foot.
“I’ll have to drop,” said Bob. “You get back and hide again.”
“Too late! I’ll drop the books to you! Go on—quick!”
Bob hung by his hands, gave a swift glance down, let go! No sooner did he land, with loosened muscles to avoid the shock as much as he could, than the package of heavy books landed beside him.
Swiftly he grasped the package, and ran.
Al, almost caught, doubled with a swift, bending squirm, as the angry man reached to grapple with him in the moonlit doorway. By his quickness Al was able to get away for an instant.
He tried the same ruse he had used so well before, but in another form. Every ounce of weight he could put into it he gave to a run away from the ladder. Then, doubling on himself, but tiptoeing and bending as low as he could, avoiding the moon ray, Al crept softly along. The man, following the direction of the footfalls, and thus trying to locate his quarry in the dark, did not see the silent, gloom-hidden form slip along the wall. Al was down the ladder before his ruse was detected.
But the man ran to the doorway, shouting through its opening.
Bob, racing toward the bicycles, realized that the other two men, catching the warning shout, were bearing down on him. Like a rabbit he reversed his route, slipping in among the trees behind the barn. But Mr. Parsons and the other mysterious stranger were determined men. Bob could not run and be silent. He dared not creep. They were too close behind him.
Al, seeing that this pursuit was close, tried to divert attention by shouting as he ran, openly, across toward the bicycles.