“Shure an’ I will that, Misther Frank,” came up the Celt’s voice from the abyss. “It’s not kilt I am.”
“Are you badly hurt?”
“Shure, an’ not a bit av it, Misther Frank. Only a bit av a bruise on me head an’ me arrum. Oi’m all roight.”
“Thank Heaven for that.”
But the question now was, how were the three men to descend from their aerial position?
There was no other stairs, and it was a little too great a height to risk a jump with safety.
But Frank Reade, Jr., was not the one to be long in a quandary. He quickly hit upon a plan.
Advancing to one of the windows, he looked down to the pavements below.
It was a height of possibly twenty feet. But a jump was out of the question.
However, some stout vines grew over the face of the building.