The trio in the rear swarmed up the handholds in close pursuit, the fat officer puffing and growling at every reach.
From the wide expanse of the warehouse roof could be seen, quite near, the channel of the Vistula river. Hamar had reached the extreme west line of the elevation, and was looking down into the void that effectually blocked further flight.
“I have him now,” exulted the big policeman, hurrying forward.
But it was not a sure thing, after all.
Directly beneath the coping, over which Hamar was leaning, rose the rigging of a great crane, the mighty arm of which was lifting with mechanical regularity to swing heavily weighted sacks from the wharf into the hold of a waiting collier.
Hardly ten feet separated the pursuer and the pursued, when Hamar bestrode the coping—now he is over and hanging by his hands—now he drops into the crane rigging—then crawling out on the swinging arm, he is swept in wide circle over the dizzy height—now he slides down the chains, now astride the sack just hooked—now lowered with the weight of coal into the vessel!
During the exhibit of daring, from the first sight of the perilous descent on the chains to the final dump, the stevedores stood aghast and open-mouthed.
As for the policeman and the boys, looking out and down upon the astonishing performance, none of them had a word to say for several minutes after it was all over.
“Gee whiz, but wasn’t that the limit?”
It was Billy who broke the breath-holding period.