The victors were left with Bat and the Captain. The latter stood sulkily waiting. Bat was sitting on the grass, with Poodle tying up the injured shoulder with a strip of his own shirt sleeve. Up to him came Hike, exclaiming, “Bat, old man, I’d like to shake hands with you.” “_All_ right, kid,” said Bat, cheerfully, “I’d jus’ soon—but take my left wing. T’other just got on the bum. I was picking a bullet out of the air—like baseball.” “Bat,” said the General, “I’d like to have you make—what do you call it? Oh—I’d like to have you ‘make a getaway.’ Have you any money?” “About ten dollars.” “Well, here’s forty. That will help some. Now promise me you’ll get away as quickly as you can. I’ll see that the detectives don’t search for you as hard as they do for the others, but your connection with the gang will get you into trouble unless you get good and far away from here.” “I’ll do it, sir,” declared Bat. “Thanks for the forty. I’ll beat it.” He rose, rather dizzily, shook hands with Hike silently, and headed for the gate. Then the captors turned to their prisoner, Captain Welch. He faced them, grimly. He had not given up the game yet. CHAPTER XVI THE CAPTAIN’S TRICK There were three very quiet persons as the victors hastened back to Washington in the _Hustle_, driven by Lieutenant Adeler. The General was nursing his twisted ankle; Hike was lying still, with Poodle occasionally patting him on the shoulder. And Captain Welch, between the two soldiers, sat with his head on his knees. There were no handcuffs on him, but his revolver had been taken away. As the tetrahedral fluttered down to its aerodrome, in Washington, the Captain stood up wearily. He seemed too tired to move. The two soldiers guarding him thought they would have an easy time. They plodded along beside him, silent. Suddenly Hike, dragging himself along beside the others, made a leap and caught at the Captain’s arm. It was too late. The Captain had already swallowed the liquid of a small bottle which he had drawn from his inner vest-pocket. He threw up his arms, cried out once, and sank in a pathetic heap. Hike picked up the bottle, turned to the astonished General, and said, “Poison. Prussic acid. Works instantly, doesn’t it?” Bending over the Captain, the General felt his heart. “Not dead yet,” he cried. “We may save him. You—” pointing to a soldier, “get an auto _quick_!” The soldier stopped the car of a passer-by, who consented to take them to the General’s house. They roared by a policeman—with warning, uplifted hand—as though he didn’t exist. Down the streets, under the arc lights, they thundered, and drew up at the General’s house. Poodle and the two soldiers had been left behind—to come on afterward. Hike and the General and the Lieutenant lifted out Captain Welch, and carried him into the house. He was left on a couch.