It was so in this case.
The detective took a hasty survey, and saw that, while the roofs ran along over the two houses, that was as far as they did go. Every two houses were separated from the next two by the width of a narrow alley like that in which policemen were waiting below to catch any of the fugitives from the raid.
“Come back! Don’t be a fool!” shouted Nick.
The man he was after had dashed along the roof, and now was standing on the low parapet which protected the roof on the side where it was divided from the next house by the alley.
T. Burton Potter glanced back for an instant. He could make out the form of the detective dimly in the darkness. Then, without reply, he put all his strength into a tremendous leap, and went off the parapet!
“Great heavens!” exclaimed Nick. “He couldn’t jump that. At least, I don’t see how he could. It is not less than nine feet, and he hadn’t any run to help him.”
So sure was the detective that Potter could not have jumped the gap that he hurried down the stairs to the parlor floor, where he met Brockton.
“Got them all, Brockton?”
“All except Lampton and that fellow you were after. I mean, the dude who was sleeping in the chair. Where is he?”
“Jumped off the roof. He’s in the alley at the side of the house. Send some of your men to look. He tried to leap from one roof to the next. That was craziness. He couldn’t do it, of course. And he took such a risk for the sake of avoiding a term in prison. Why, it’s sixty feet. There can’t be anything left of him.”