The moment they were by, Dick took the chance of making a noise,
and pushed through the bush, to reach the other side. And, just
as the cry of the man who first had seen the footprints sounded
again, he got through. At once, throwing off all attempt at
silence, he started running, crouched low. He was only a dozen
feet from the wall he leaped for a projection a few feet up. By a
combination of good luck and skill he reached it with his hands.

A moment later he had swarmed over the wall and dropped to the
other side just as a shot rang out behind. The bullet struck the
wall, chipped fragments of stone flew all over him. But he was
not hurt, and he ran as he had, never known he could run, keeping
to the side of the road, where he was in a heavy shadow.

As soon as he could, he burst through a hedge on the side of the
road opposite the wall, and ran on, sheltered by the hedge until,
to his delight, he plunged headfirst into a stream of water. The
fall knocked him out for a moment, but the cold water revived him
and he did not mind the scraped knee and the hurt knuckles he
owed to the sharp stones in the bed of the little brook. He
changed his course at once, following the brook, since in that no
telltale footprints would be left.

Behind him he heard the sound of pursuit for a little while, but
he judged that the brook would save him. He could not be pursued
very far. Even in this sleepy countryside he would find it easy
to get help, and the Germans, as he was now sure they were, would
have to give up the chase. All that had been essential had been
for him to get a few hundred feet from the park, after that he was
safe.