On his knees, his back to the street, at the edge of the roof,
Dick Prescott seized the rope.
Then, with a fervent inward prayer, he started over the edge, and hung in the air, eighty feet from the ground.
Down below, the ever-increasing crowd let out a cyclonic, roaring cheer. It was a foolish thing to do, for it might have rattled the young football player. But Prescott paid no attention to the racket, and kept on lowering himself, coolly.
Here was where his gym. training and all his football practice came in splendidly. Every muscle was strong, every nerve true to its duty!
Not once did Prescott fear that he would lose his grip and fall to the street below.
Up above, at the roof's edge, stood Darrin, directing as though from quarter-deck or military-top. Dave had to lean rather far out, at that great height, but it did not make him dizzy.
"There! The grand old chap has landed on the window-sill! He has gone inside!" cried Dave, turning to his comrades. "Now we can wait until we feel a signal-pull on the rope."
As he turned away from the smoke that was coming up through the air Darrin realized how much smoke he had inhaled. He thumped his chest lightly, taking deep breaths.
Dick was in the studio now.
Close to the window, where the draught was strongest, Prescott found the smoke so thick that he had to grope his way through it; but bending low, he quickly came to where Grace Dodge lay unconscious on the floor.