The third floor of the building was but an open garret, piled high with old furniture and discarded things generally. The two windows were covered with dirt and cobwebs, and as it was dark outside, because of the rain, Dick could see but little.
"Father!" he called softly. "Father, are you here?"
He listened and heard a tapping, coming from one end of the garret. He moved over in the direction and struck a match. Then he gave a cry, half of gladness and half of dismay.
His parent was there, bound to an upright of the garret floor. He had his hands behind him, and a towel was tied over his mouth. With deft fingers Dick unloosed the towel, and then he cut his father's bonds with his pocketknife.
"Oh, Dick! How glad I am that you have come!" gasped Anderson Rover, when he could speak. "That towel nearly smothered me!"
"Did they hurt you any, Dad?" asked the boy anxiously.
"Not so very much, Dick. We had several rough and tumble fights,—when I tried to get away from them. But they were too many for me. Have they gone?"
"No, they are in the sitting room below, talking matters over."
"And you came here all alone?" asked Mr. Rover, stretching his cramped limbs.
"No, Tom and Sam are down in the cellar. I told them I would come upstairs and investigate."