“Keep coming; we’ll get him!”

Chester made no reply, for he knew none was expected.  He kept close behind his friend.

Now, suddenly, the fugitive reached the edge of the crowd.  For a single moment he paused, and gazed back at his pursuers.  Once more he waved a hand at Hal, and then, turning, started off at a run.

Hal, seeing that his quarry was about to make good his escape, suddenly grew angry.  Bringing some tactics learned on the football field into play, he dashed forward, hurling spectators to right and left.  In another moment he, too, had reached the edge of the crowd and, with a cry, dashed ahead.

He did not pause to see whether Chester was behind him.  All he thought of was to overtake the fugitive.

Chester, in attempting to follow his friend, stumbled over an outstretched foot and fell heavily to the ground.  He was not badly hurt, but he had struck on his face and for a moment he was dazed.  He dragged himself quickly to his feet and moved forward again.  Some distance ahead he saw that Hal was gaining upon the fugitive.

Down the wide street ran the fugitive, with Hal close behind and gaining at every stride.  As the sound of pursuing footsteps became plainer, the man looked back over his shoulder.  Then he redoubled his efforts; but still Hal gained.

Suddenly the man dashed around a corner.  Three seconds later Hal did the same.  As he did so he caught sight of a big man before him.  Hal tried to check his pace, but it was too late.

Something bright flashed in the sunlight and Hal felt a sickening thud upon his head.  In vain he tried to keep his feet.  He sank slowly to the ground and then fell forward on his face.  And even as he lost consciousness, he thought to himself: 

“What a fool I was.  I should have suspected a trap.  So he hit me with the butt of a revolver.  I’ll get even yet.”

Above the fallen lad the man stood with a grim smile of satisfaction.  He stirred the prostrate form with his foot and then put his revolver back in his pocket.  He turned to go.

At that moment Chester dashed around the corner.  The lad and the fugitive took in the situation at the same moment.  Chester pulled himself up short and reached for his revolver, which he always carried in his coat pocket.  But the other was too quick for him.  He leaped suddenly forward and Chester’s arm was seized in a vise-like grip.

In vain the lad struggled to free himself.  He could not move the powerful fingers that gripped him.  He kicked out with his right foot and this effort was rewarded by a cry of pain from his opponent.

“Kick me on the shins, will you?” cried the latter in German.

His free hand found the revolver in his pocket and it flashed in the sunlight once more.  He attempted to reverse the weapon and seize it by the barrel, and as he did so he unconsciously loosened his grip upon Chester’s arm.