Boy Scouts -- Juvenile fiction; Courage -- Juvenile fiction; Spy stories; World War, 1914-1918 -- England -- Juvenile fiction
He carried a flashlight himself, and now he took the chance of playing
it on his ankle, to see if there was any chance of escape. He hooded
the light with his hand and looked carefully. But what he saw was not
encouraging. The steel band looked most formidable. It was on the
handcuff principle and any attempt to work his foot loose would only
make the grip tighter and increase his suffering. His spirits fell at
that. Then the only thing his brief immunity would do for him would be
to keep him in pain a little longer. He would be caught anyhow, and he
guessed that, if Dick got away, he would find his captors in a savage
mood.
Even as he let the flashlight wink out, since it was dangerous to use it
more than was necessary, he heard a cautious movement within a few feet.
At first he thought it was an animal he had heard, so silent were its
movements. But in a moment a hand touched his own. He started
slightly, but kept quiet.
"Hush–I’m a friend," said a voice, almost at his elbow. "I thought you
were somewhere around here, but I couldn’t find you until you flashed
your light. You’re caught in a trap, aren’t you?"
"Yes," said Dick. "Who are you?"
"That’s what I want to know about you, first," said the other boy–for it
was another boy, as Harry learned from his voice. Never had a sound
been more welcome in his ears than that voice! "Tell me who you are and
what you two were doing around here. I saw you this afternoon and
tracked you. I tried to before, but I couldn’t, on account of your
motorcycles. Then I just happened to see you, when you were on foot.
Are you Boy Scouts?"
"Yes," said Harry. "Are you?"
"Yes. That’s why I followed–especially when I saw you coming in here.
We’ve got a patrol in the village, but most of the scouts are at work in
the fields."
Rapidly, and in a whisper, Harry explained a little, enough to make this
new ally understand.
"You’d better get out, if you know how, and take word," said Harry. "I
think my chum got away, but it would be better to be sure. And they’ll
be after me soon."
"If they give us two or three minutes we’ll both get out," said the
newcomer, confidently. "I know this place with my eyes shut. I used to
play here before the old family moved away. I’m the vicar’s son, in the
village, and I always had the run of the park until these new people
came. And I’ve been in here a few times since then, too."
"That’s all right," said Harry. "But how am I going to get out of this
trap?"
"Let me have your flashlight a moment," said the stranger.
Harry gave it to him, and the other scout bent over his ankle. Harry
saw that he had a long, slender piece of wire. He guessed that he was
going to try to pick the lock. And in a minute or less Harry heard a
welcome click that told him his new found friend–a friend in need,
indeed, he was proving himself to be!–had succeeded. His ankle was
free.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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