As he drew near the spot where he had seen
the man, he moved cautiously.
Finally Phil dropped down and peered under the tent. He was less
than ten feet from where the fellow was at work. The Circus Boy
could catch a "rip, rip" now and then.
"The fiend is cutting the net," he muttered. "I wonder who
he is. Ah, I know him now! He is one of the tent men. I never
thought he was in this thing. I must catch him--I must make the
attempt, for he may get away. I don't even know the fellow's
name, nor do I understand his enmity toward the show or myself."
Phil wriggled in under the tent, now, not fearing discovery, for
inside the tent, it was quite dark. Slowly raising himself to
his feet, he edged nearer, step by step, to where the man was
at work. The man had partly spread the net out by this time,
to make sure that he was cutting it in the right place so that
it would give way beneath the weight of the performer unfortunate
enough to drop into it first.
"The fiend!" repeated Phil, clenching his fists. "I'm glad I am
the one to discover him.
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