forward as fast as possible all the time. Men fell on both sides of
them beneath their heavy blows, and so far neither lad had received a
severe jolt.

At that moment, however, Hal felt a keen pain in his left arm. He glanced
down curiously and saw a tiny stream of red spout forth. His lips set in
a thin line.

"Guns, Chester," he said quietly, halting in his tracks. "They are
using knives."

"Good," said Chester, also halting. "Back to back."

The lads whipped out their automatics simultaneously, and, back to back,
confronted the crowd. Hal spoke.

"We are not spies," he shouted, "but we are not going to be killed
without a fight. We are British army officers. Stand back!"

Before the threatening muzzles of the two automatics the crowd hesitated.
Then, from directly ahead of Chester, a shot rang out. The lad heard
something whiz past his head, and from beyond came a cry of pain.

"Shot one of his own number," muttered the lad.

His finger tightened on the trigger as he saw a man about to leap forward
regardless of the automatic.

"I'm going to shoot, Hal," he called.