“What’s a shute?”
“A long, tightly-boarded box. They used it to send rubbish down to the river. It slants down the side of the building about forty feet.”
“You don’t mean to slide down it?”
“Yes, I do. It’s our only chance of escape.”
It seemed a perilous one, and as Will held a match over the end of the shute and explained that a swift descent might terminate in a cold plunge in the river, Tom drew back in dismay.
“I’ll go first,” said Will. “You’ll follow.”
“I’m afraid, Will.”
“Then we’re lost, for the fire—hear that!”
“I’ll do it! I’ll do it!” cried Tom, starting, as one side of the building, the lower props burned away, sagged to one side.
It was high time for action. Will climbed over the extending top of the shute and lowered himself into it.