With a sudden burst of strength I managed to free myself from one of the clutching hands and half turned. But the effort was in vain. Again the arms closed around me, and as I slipped on the stone floor, I felt myself being raised and the iron rail pressing against my back. I tried to regain my feet—tried to throw off the clutching hands, but could not; and then, as if my weight was of no avail, the man lifted me slowly but surely until my feet were off the floor. Then he gave a sudden push, and with a cry I went off the platform.
Chapter VII.
The Chief and I—Make a Call
It is said that a person drowning has all the events of his life pass before him. I do not know if that is true or not; but in the brief second in which I was falling through space I had but one thought—how foolish I had been to have ever climbed those tower stairs. The thought must have come and gone in a mere flash of time, but it seemed long enough for me to reflect over. Then, with a crash and a jar which seemed to shake every bone in my body, I struck the roof. Struck the roof and started to roll down its side.
Luckily, there was not a very steep pitch to the roof, and I managed to stop my slide just as I reached the eaves. Aching in every part of my body, I pulled myself into a sitting position and gave a cautious look around. Above me was the tower, and I thanked my stars that the height was only about six feet. If I had fallen several feet from where I did, I would not have stopped until I reached the ground. And there is no doubt I would have been killed. As it was, it seemed a miracle that I had not broken any bones. For though I was pretty sore from the fall, I decided there was nothing else the matter.
But my position was far from enviable. I was sitting on the very edge of the roof between the church and the rectory, about thirty feet from the ground. The pitch of the roof was not so steep but what I could climb it, but that would do me no particular good. Above me was the roof of the house, and I remembered that I had seen a light in the rectory as I came across the lawn. There must be some sort of an arrangement to reach the roof through the rectory attic. I decided to try and find it.
Carefully I edged myself along and began to climb over the smooth expanse of the rectory shingles. Though they were slippery, yet the pitch was the same as that of the church, and I had no difficulty. Halfway up the roof I found what I had expected—an opening into the attic. But when I had seated myself on the wooden hatch, I was no better off than before. It was locked, and I was unable to open it.
Sitting there for a few moments, I tried to puzzle out what I should do next. I did not intend to spend the night on the roof if I could help it, and yet there did not seem to be any way down to the ground. Then I began to bang on the covered opening—banging with my feet, pounding and pounding. I would do this for a moment, then wait, only to bang again. Just as I was about ready to give up hope I heard footsteps in the attic, and a very surprised voice cried in a muffled tone:
“What's that?”
I yelled out that I was on the roof and climbed off the cover of the trap door. In a moment it was slowly lifted, and, looking through the opening, I saw the rather startled face of the minister. I drew myself to the edge and dropped at his surprised feet on the attic floor. As I straightened up, I saw his eyes sweep over me, and they grew very wide as he gasped:
“Good heavens! it's Mr. Pelt.”