But he
had no intention whatever of taking it. He did not even take off his
clothes, though he did seize the welcome chance to use the washstand that
was in the room. He had been through a good deal since his last chance to
wash and clean up, and he was grimy and dirty. He discovered, too, that he
was ravenously hungry. Until that moment he had been too active, too busy
with brain and body, to notice his hunger.
However, there was nothing to be done for that now. He and Dick had not
stopped for meals that day since breakfast, and they had eaten their
emergency rations in the early afternoon. In the tool case on his impounded
motorcycle Harry knew there were condensed food tablets--each the
equivalent of certain things like eggs, and steaks and chops. And there
were cakes of chocolate, too, the most nourishing of foods that are small
in bulk. But the knowledge did him little good now. He didn't even know
where the motorcycle had been stored for the night. It had been
confiscated, of course; in the morning it would be returned to him.
But he didn't allow his thoughts to dwell long on the matter of food. It
was vastly more important that he should get away. He had to get his news
to Colonel Throckmorton. Perhaps Dick had done that. But he couldn't trust
that chance. Aside from that, he wanted to know what had become of Dick.
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