Then one of the men with flashlights gave a cry that sounded to
Dick just like the note of a dog that has picked up a lost scent.
The lights were playing on the ground just where they had crossed
the wall.

"Footsteps, Hans!" said the man. "Turned from the wall, too!
They have gone in, but have not come out."

"How many?" asked the other man, coming up quickly.

"Two, I think -- no more," said the discoverer. "Now we shall
follow them."

Dick held his breath. If they could follow the footsteps -- and
there was no reason in the world j to hope that they could not! --
they would be bound to pass within a foot or two of his hiding-
place. And, as he realized, they would, when they were past him,
find the marks of his feet returning. They would know then that
he was between them and the wall. He realized what that would
mean. Bravely he nerved himself to take the one desperate chance
that remained to him. They were far too strong for him to have a
chance to meet them on even terms, all he could hope for was an
opportunity to make use of his light weight and his superior
speed. He knew that he could move two feet, at least, to their
one. And so he waited, crouching, until they went by. The light
flashed by the bush, for some reason, it did not strike it
directly. That gave him a respite. Fortunately they were looking
for footprints, not for their makers.