David whistled in a low key. This was indeed a facer, though, to tell the truth, the presence of Jong in the street below was a wonderful fillip to both courage and spirits. But Dick; what was he to do about his friend?
'Can't leave him all alone, that's certain,' he told himself without the least hesitation. 'Supposing I go on a tour of inspection, for it seems to me that there is no one watching or listening. Look here, Jong,' he called out gently, 'stay where you are and watch. I'm going to find Mr. Dick, if it's possible.'
Promptly he crept away over the roof, his feet making not so much as a sound as he went, for his native shoes were as soft as bedroom slippers. Then he came to a sudden halt. David's old characteristic asserted itself. His desire to be practical, to have a plan always where such was possible, came to the fore, and he lay flat again cogitating, trying to decide how to proceed.
'No use ranging round and round aimlessly,' he told himself. 'Where's Dick most likely to be kept a prisoner? That's the question. Where's he been put? If only I can find the cell I'll manage somehow to get at him.'
A couple of minutes later he was sidling slowly again to the very edge of the roof, for higher up there was no opening. The slight slope of the big tiles led to a wall some five feet in height, rising abruptly at the highest edge of the roof, and capped itself by a second roof of huge, artistic tiles, which overhung their support far more than was the case down below. This second part went steeply upward to the summit, where the ridge was capped with a number of ludicrous and marvellously wrought dragons. It was a dead end as it were, not only to the building in that part, but also to David's hopes in that direction. Obviously there was nothing to be done there, and equally obviously the wall below him, through which he had contrived to squeeze by way of the window offered something far more likely. For was it not in the bounds of possibility that the range of windows was continued, and, if so, why should Dick not be held a prisoner in a cell into which one of the openings gave light and air?
'Hist! Jong! are you still there?'
The figure of the Chinaman steeped out into the white road, silhouetted blackly against it, and fore-shortened from the aspect from which our hero observed him.
'Misser Davie, here John Jong.'
'I may want a rope; got one?'
'Find him easy; I go now to look. Be back and hide along here till you want me.'