“Go ahead with the young lady,” directed the detective, as Howard looked at him inquiringly. “I will bring her father. Push on!”
Howard drew the girl away, and Nick lifted the old man, carrying him on a stalwart shoulder along the shaky roof. Fortunately, the roof was flat, and there was only a low parapet dividing it from the next house, one that it was easy to step over.
It was here that the real peril began, however. The house was a mere blazing shell. In many places the roof had burned through, revealing fire and blazing rafters below in the awful hell-like pit.
At every step there was danger of a plunge into the abyss of death below. But, with the luck that often attends daring and desperation, they reached the third house in safety.
“We shall have to climb down the front,” said Nick. “The firemen ought to have a ladder there by this time. But there’s a sloping roof to be negotiated. We must be very careful, or it will send us headlong to the street, after all.”
“I’ll go first,” offered Howard.
Before Nick could object—if he had intended to do so—Howard Milmarsh had crawled up the steep and slippery slate roof, and was holding to the ridgepole.
Reaching down, he took Bessie Silvius’ hand and pulled her up to the ridge, so that she could slide down the other side of the flat part of the roof.
“Wait a moment!” called Howard to the detective. “I’ll come back and help you!”
“No! You and the young lady get to the ground as soon as you can. I do not need any help. But this roof is getting worse every minute. There is no time for argument.”