Policemen attempted to break in the door, but the woman's presence hindered them, and when they tried to push her aside she scratched their faces with her claws. She was like a mad woman.
The Nut had opened a window which looked out on to a narrow, deserted street—a sort of blind alley. Chéri-Bibi dragged himself so far, and they took a look round. They saw a rain-pipe fixed to the wall by iron hooks. It was their last hope. By making use of this rain-pipe they could reach the structure above, and climb upon the roof.
"Off you go," whispered Chéri-Bibi. "Good-bye. Don't trouble about me any more, or I'll jump out of the window."
Nothing that Chéri-Bibi could say, even now, made any impression. How the Nut performed the miracle of carrying him and saving him was a riddle which he could not himself have solved five minutes later.
They happened to be on the top floor but one, and the stories were extremely low. The clamps held securely. The molding of the window above did duty likewise as a support for the Nut.
It looked as if they might be hurled headlong below. They could still hear the cries of mother and children, the shouts of policemen, and the echo of tremendous blows striking the door, which, fortunately, was solidly built, as is usually the case in very old houses.
At length Chéri-Bibi and the Nut reached the roof, climbed through a window facing them, and passed into a room in which another window led to the next roof. They made for it, but here they came up against a chimney and nearly fell into the street.
The Nut began to pant like a bellows. They could hear the shouts of the policemen in pursuit who had returned to the roofs, and also the shouts which they exchanged with their men in the street.
Chéri-Bibi still directed the Nut, whose progress was becoming increasingly difficult, for he was almost carrying him.
"Stop here. Passengers off first, please!"