He read the words, “If your scrape is serious, pull the string three times and we will send up a rope. If you have just had an ordinary fuss with your dad, say so, and be a sport and stick to your guns.”
Dee laughed noiselessly, and pulled the string three hard jerks.
Immediately there was a quick pull on the line, and Dee commenced to haul up. A rope followed the string, and another note was bound to the end.
“Throw rope over beam, and pay down the end,” it read.
Dee did so and soon the heavy rope hung taut. It was difficult work getting out of the window and starting down the three story slide in the pitch dark, but Dee knew it was his one chance. He had but little faith in the continuance of Zip’s friendship; he knew him too well. And as for Mr. De Lorme, Dee knew that his life was worth absolutely nothing as long as he remained in that house. And of more importance still, there was the mystery of the dynamite to unravel. The fatal thirteenth was drawing near.
Sliding painfully down the ropes Dee thought of all this and as soon as he felt his feet on the ground he jerked the rope down with his own hand, and turning to Ernest and Frank, who were hastily coiling it, whispered,
“Let’s get out of this!”
One at a time, they made their way through the back garden into the pitch dark garage, and out the other door into the alley. Once in that comparative security, they raced up the alley and turned in at Bill’s gate. Up to the club room they hurried, Dee whispering, “Don’t make a light!”
But Ernest would not talk until he had made sure that there were no listeners, and then in as few words as possible Dee told his story.
The boys’ eyes grew round and wild as they listened, and at the conclusion Ernest looked at his watch, and said to Frank, “Where is the flivver?”