Picking up a similar object, he was on the point of throwing it haphazard when he became aware of a loud knocking in the direction of the door. Almost frantic with relief and joy, he dropped the missile and started toward the spot.
Fortunately gaining the little apartment without mishap, he inserted his key in the lock with trembling hands, and attempted to turn it. Just then a maudlin voice came from outside:
"Phwere is the lock, Oi wonder? By the whiskers av St. Patrick, Oi never saw such a night. Cronin, ye divil, yer fuller than Duffy's goat. But ye are a good fellow.
"'So Oi seized th' capstan bar,
Like a true honest tar,
And in spite——'
"Murther! Oi can't git in at all, at all. Oi'll go back to the bottle. Me new friend has—hic—left me, but Oi have his whiskey. Here goes for th' house once more."
Disgusted at the discovery that it was only the tipsy watchman, Nattie had again made his way back into the "go-down" proper. As he crossed the threshold of the door leading from the office, he heard the rattling of iron.
The sound came from the far end. A second later there was a faint crash, and a gust of wind swept through the vast apartment.
"He has opened a window. He is trying to escape."