Drake laughed, the short laugh of a strong man ridiculing the proposal that he shall probably stand aside and permit a thief to pass with his booty.
"Put down that thing," he said. "You know you can't fire; too much noise. Put it down—and the cases. No? Very well!"
He sprang aside with one movement, and with the next went for the man.
Ted was really a skillful craftsman, and had taken the precaution to fasten a string across the room, from the bed to the grate.
Drake's foot caught in it, and he went sprawling on his face.
Ted sprang over him, and gained the corridor. With a dexterity beyond all praise, he switched off the remaining lights and then pushed up the window and dropped, rather than climbed, down the ladder.
Drake was on his feet in a moment and out in the corridor in the next. He had heard the window pushed up, and knew the point at which the man had made his escape.
Even then he did not give the alarm, and he did not turn up the lights, for he could see into the night better without them. He leaned out of the window and peered into darkness, and distinguished two forms gliding toward the shrubbery.
It was a long drop, but he intended taking it. He swung one leg over the sill as some one came up the stairs.
It was Sparling.