It was not the Professor standing beside her holding her hand, but the man called Rudolph!
If she was surprised, so was he.
He stared at her and then he said,
“I thought you were someone else.”
“I-I – thought you were – my – uncle,” Tilda said, remembering the plan after a slight hesitation.
As she spoke again there was the sound of shouting and pistol shots.
“Whoever we are we had better get out of here,” Rudolph said.
He had dropped Tilda’s hand in his surprise at seeing her, but now he picked it up again.
“Come,” he said, “we don’t want to be caught by those noisy hooligans.”
He pulled her away from the street lamp and, keeping in the shadow of the houses, they ran the length of the short lane, turned into another and a few seconds later turned again.
Neither of them looked ba
