He had heard enough.
"Now, rush 'em! Grab 'em---and hold 'em!" shouted Dick, suddenly.
As the three freshmen shot forward into the darkness something
that sounded like an almost hysterical cheer in girls' voices
came from the open, dark window overhead.
But neither Dick nor his chums paused to give thought to that
at this important moment.
The unknown who had been doing most of the talking wheeled with
an oath, making a frantic dash to get out of the alley and onto
the street.
But Dick shot fairly past him, dodging slightly, and made a bound
for the second party to this wicked conference.
Just beyond the doorway in which this second party had keen standing
was a yard that furnished a second means of exit from the alley.
It was this second party to the talk that Dick was after. He
left the other fugitive to his two active, quick-witted chums.
They were swift to understand, and grappled, together, with the
rascal fleeing for the street.
The three went down in a scuffling, fighting heap.
Like a flash the fellow that Dick was after seemed to melt into
the adjoining back yard. Prescott, in trying to get in after
him in record time, fell flat to the ground just inside the yard.
Yet, as he went down Prescott grabbed one of his fugitive's trouser
legs near the ankle.
"Let go!" hissed the other, in too low a voice to be recognized.
Before Dick, holding on grimly, had time to look upward, the
wretch lifted a cane, bringing it down on Dick's head with ugly
force.
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