“Now will ye believe me?” demanded Mike, triumphantly.
“Who—who is it?” asked Ryan, still in the grip of his astonishment.
“How should we know?” asked Mike. “We was comin’ up from the beach wid another cargo o’ the stuff when we hear it.”
“Mistuh Higginbotham went up to de roof wid two men,” interposed the gigantic negro. “Leastways, he done went up to see ’bout dem prisonahs an’ ax ’em a few quistions.”
“You’re right, George,” said Ryan. “I’d forgotten. Listen to that. There they go again. Come on.”
He darted for the outer door, the negro George, 126 Pete and Mike at his heels. The crowd of mixed whites and blacks in the doorway gave ’way before him. In a trice they all were gone. The room was deserted.
“Now is our chance,” said Captain Folsom, to the three boys and Tom Barnum, crouching beside him. “Come on. We must get downstairs and out of the house before they return, for return they will as soon as they understand what the fellows on the roof have to tell of our mysterious disappearance.”
He darted down the stairs, two at a time, with the four others close behind him. Halfway across the big room, however, he halted abruptly and groaned:
“Too late. They’re coming back.”
“Here,” cried Jack, seizing him by an arm, and pushing him along. “Quick, fellows, through this door. It’s a chance.”