Mr. Macey, ashen faced and shaking, stared at Dick in a sort of fascination.
"I—-I got it," said Dick, when he could control his voice. "Here it is, safe in my pocket."
"I forgot to ask," rejoined Mr. Macey tremulously. "I'm sick of that bauble. Ever since you started aloft, Prescott, I've been calling myself all sorts of names for being a party to this thing."
"Why, it's all right," laughed Dick, only a bit brokenly. "It was easy enough—-with a fellow like Dave to help."
"Did he go up the flagstaff, too?" demanded Mr. Macey, opening his eyes wider.
"No," declared Darrin promptly. "Prescott did it."
"But good old Dave was right at hand to help," Dick contended staunchly.
"Get yourselves together, boys. Then we'll get down out of here," urged Mr. Macey. "I haven't done anything, but I feel as though I'd be the one to reel and faint."
"Take this scarf, now, please," begged Dick, holding open his coat.
The real estate man looked over the bauble that had placed two manly lives in such desperate jeopardy. The fabric was much torn, but all the precious stones still appeared to be there.