It seemed to Jack that the man was in the house a long time. He decided on a dangerous tactic. Quickly, noiselessly, he sprinted across the street, jumped the fence and ran to the side of the house. Cautiously, he moved to see if there was a back door; he found it on the other side of the house. Putting his hand on the knob, he turned it and pushed, but the door wouldn’t open; it was locked. He moved toward the front again, to watch for the exit of his man. Every second was an eternity. His heart pounded wildly and if he had not controlled himself, he would have trembled, not so much from fear as from anxiety and excitement.
He flattened himself out against the wall and remained stationary, not daring to make a noise. Suddenly he felt long, bony fingers grab him by the shoulder and wheel him around. His blood went cold and he could almost feel his hair standing on end. “So!” the man grunted under his breath. “What are you doing, following me, eh?” Jack cowered before the great height towering over him. He saw that the man had a rising forehead, bushy eyebrows and deep eye sockets. What impressed him most, however, were the man’s sunken cheeks and his wild eyes, which were dark and brilliant.
For almost a minute, Jack was paralyzed and couldn’t talk. Eventually he muttered, “No—no—I—I’m not following you.”
“Yes, you are,” accused the man. “You have been following me for two weeks now and I want you to stop it.”
Jack heaved a sigh of relief. The man was crazy. But was he dangerous, he wondered. Would he attack him. He was on guard against an attack. “Why, no, Mister, I’m not following you. Why should I? I don’t even know you.”
“You lie!” screamed the other. “You lie! You do know me and I know you.”
Jack thought he had better be quiet and polite with his assailant. A good, sound argument might get him out of his predicament, he thought. “I am sorry, Mister,” he said, “but I repeat that I don’t know you. If you know me, as you say you do, then what is my name.”
Still holding on to Jack’s shoulder, the man scratched his chin. “Now let me see,” he mumbled to himself. “What is your name?” He mused, then he snapped his fingers and announced, “I know. It’s Jack.”
The boy gasped. How could that man know him, know his name. What was he to do? He wished he had never known about this thing, had never followed this man and had never got into this situation. Controlling himself, he asked, “What is my family name?”