The glare of the street lamp at the corner struck the warehouse, and
this indirect light was sufficient to work by. He made the trap after a
series of extra-cautious steps. The roof was slanting and pebbled, and
the least turn of the foot might start a cascade and bell an alarm. A
comfort-loving dress-suiter like himself, playing Old Sleuth, when he
ought to be home and in bed! It was all of two-thirty. What the deuce
would he do when there were no more thrills in life?
He stooped and caught hold of a corner of the trap to test it--and drew
back with a silent curse. Glass! He had cut his hand. The beggars had
covered the trap with cement and broken glass, sealing it. It would
take time to cut round the trap; and even then he wouldn't be sure; they
might have nailed it down from the inside. The worst of it was he would
have to do the work himself; and in the meantime Karlov would have a
fair wind for his propaganda gas, and perhaps the disposal of the drums
to some collector who wasn't above bargaining for smuggled emeralds.
Odd, though, that Karlov should have made a prisoner of Coles. What lay
behind that manoeuvre? Well, this trap must be liberated; no getting
round that.
Hang it, he wasn't going to be dishonest exactly; it would be simply
a double play, half for Uncle Sam and half for himself. The idea of
offering freely his blood and money to Uncle Sam and at the same time
putting one over on the old gentleman had a novel appeal.
He stood up and wiped a tickling cobweb from his cheek. As the window
from which he had descended came into range he stared, loose-jawed. Then
be chuckled, as thoroughbred adventurers generally chuckle when they
find themselves at the bottom of the sack, the mouth of which has
simultaneously and automatically closed. Wasn't he the brainy old top?
Wasn't he Sherlock Holmes plus? Old fool, how the devil was he going to
get back through that window?
The drums of jeopardy--even to think of them was unlucky! Not to have
planned a retreat; to have climbed down a well and cut the bucket rope!
For in effect that was precisely what he had done. Only wings could
carry him up to that window. With sardonic humour he felt of his
shoulder blades. Not a feather in sight. Then he touched his ears. Ah,
here was something definite; they had grown several inches during the
past few hours. Monumental ass!
Of course there would be the drain. He could escape; but, dear Lord!
with enough noise to wake the dead. And that would write "Finis" to this
particular adventure. The quarry and the emeralds would be gone before
he could return with help. When everything had gone so smoothly--a jolt
like this!