Poodle dropped behind. Out from a shabby house across the bridge two tough-looking negroes dashed. One of them held a revolver at the Lieutenant’s head, while the other sprang after Poodle. Poodle sprang to the rail of the bridge and dropped down into the Rock Creek gully. As he did so, the man who had been following them fired down into the gully, twice. Poodle crawled into weeds at the side of the creek. He hastened along on hands and knees. Dashing up from the hollow, he ran down Florida Avenue, looking for a policeman. He found one peacefully strolling along his post, swinging his night-stick. “Hold-up—army lieutenant held up—bridge!” Poodle gasped, pointing; and followed the policeman who, with drawn revolver, started running. They found the Lieutenant seated on the rail, swinging his feet calmly and waiting. “Hullo,” he sang out cheerfully. “Get away!” “Robbed, sir!” bawled the policeman. “Nope—think they took me for somebody else. They searched me and looked over my letters, but they left my watch and money alone. Looking for papers of some kind, I guess.” By the policeman’s request, Poodle and the Lieutenant described the men, as well as they could, at a police station, and strolled on toward Hike’s place. Poodle felt distinctly nervous, and this was not at all lessened when, on reaching Hike’s room, he found that youngster absent. They waited for ten minutes, then made inquiries of the Lieutenant’s friend who was the boys’ host. “Why,” said the owner of the house, “General Thorne sent a carriage for young Mr. Griffin, about an hour ago. Mr. Griffin told me so. And he got in and was driven off.” The Lieutenant was satisfied with that, but Poodle was uneasy. He believed that Hike would have sent him word if he were going away for quite a time. Finally, he persuaded the Lieutenant to telephone. General Thorne, on the ’phone, said that he had not seen Hike since that noon—when the three of them had lunched with him. “Why, no. Surely not,” said the General. He had not sent a carriage for Hike. He had not sent for him at all. He had no idea where he was. Jack Adeler turned from the telephone to Poodle. “And those men that held us up seemed to be after papers,” was all he said. Half that night they spent in telephoning, and in searching about the shed where the _Hustle_ had been taken. But even at dawn, they found no trace of where Hike was, or of where he had been since he left the house in the carriage that had _not_ been sent by the General. CHAPTER XII THE LONE CABIN