The Little Guy sighs, because...it could not possibly be clearer what he's just instructed Doctor Evil about. But rather than get angry at the doctor, The Little Guy tries again.

He points at himself. Me.
He points at Doctor Evil. You.
Two child-sized orange fingers wiggle slowly. sneak.
He turns and points at Bar, and then in a wide arc over. Behind Bar.

Yes? Good?
Let's go!

But before there can be confirmation the Little Guy is off, the giant-to-him bag of goodies dragging behind him.

He doesn't move in a straight line, but rather strafes as if he's taking active fire.