"Perhaps it won't do any harm, even if they do see me," he thought; "anyway—here goes."
Pulling his hat well over his eyes, he made a bee-line for the big sycamore which stood just inside the curb. It was the work of only a few moments to reach it, when, with considerable agility, Bob drew himself up into a crotch, and screened by the thick foliage began to climb slowly upward.
THE BIG SYCAMORE
The shade of the tree was grateful to Bob, but, as the moments flew by, he began to feel that detective work was not the most pleasant in the world.
"I don't suppose—"
The half uttered words came to an abrupt stop.