"Wait and see," was all Frank would say; and with this Ralph had
to be content.

The two friends separated at the door. Frank rather ostentatiously
bade his visitor good-night, and Ralph sauntered down the walk to
the gate, as the door closed.

Although he looked around once or twice, and thought he caught a
fleeting glimpse of several flitting figures, Ralph walked bravely
on his way, whistling merrily, as though he had not a care or
trouble in the wide world.

When he had gone a couple of blocks, he came to a portion of the
road when the shadows were densest. Here the trees grew close to
the thoroughfare, and this fact made it a splendid hiding place
for anyone so inclined. There was a legend told of a peddler who
had, once upon a time, been set upon by tramps at this point, and
robbed and beaten, so that he died of his hurts.

Even bold people were wont to hurry their steps a trifle when
passing this ill-omened place. Ralph, however, kept on at his
customary pace, still whistling one of the songs he had so lately
sung with Frank and Helen Allen.

Just as he was half-way past the shadowy spot, he heard a sudden
shrill sound, not unlike a referee's whistle on the football
gridiron. Dark figures immediately sprang up close by, and the
rush of many feet told that the danger anticipated by Frank was
about to materialize.