Achmed Abdullah

“ His fists were clenched, he was about to strike Tom, who was helpless in the grip of half-a-dozen officers. But he controlled himself.
Only his words came, venomous, triumphant, quick, like machine-gun bullets:
"Got you. Right in the act. About to communicate with the enemy of the Fatherland, eh?"
Tom's wits had a trick, learned at roundup and, too, if the truth be told, at poker, of acting quickly and tellingly when he was in a tight corner, with the odds against him.
"Who's the enemy?" he inquired gently. ”

“ CHAPTER XXXV BACK FIRE By the time the machine reached the Leipziger Strasse it was fairly late. The sidewalks were packed with a homing throng of clerks and girls from banks and counting-houses and department stores. Trucks and motor-cars, often driving three abreast, busses and surface cars, clanked and hooted down the main roads, splitting here and there to deliver their freight, human or otherwise, in the Southern and Western suburbs. The white-gloved policemen had their hands full, and Tom fretted as his taxicab was caught in a crush at the corner of the Wilhelm Strasse. ”

“ Nobody answered. There was no time. For Tom kept his assailants busy. He had left his saber at home, but his fists flew out, right and left, right and left, up and down, like flails. One man went down. ”