A moment later one of the men went down.
In three minutes, the big roll-top desk was out of the window, swinging in mid air.
The rope creaked and something gave so that the piece of furniture dropped a foot.
“Steady!” whooped the man whose pay was to be docked in case of accident.
“Yes, for Heaven’s sake,” muttered Patsy.
Down went the desk, the man inside breathing only when necessary until it safely rested on the walk.
To load the desk in the wagon did not take much time, and the van hadn’t gone a block before Patsy had exerted sufficient pressure to break the lock.
The rattle of the vehicle drowned the noise he had to make, and he pushed up the top, slipped to the floor of the van, and dropped out.
The two men on the seat of the van drove on, all unconscious of what had happened, and Patsy, the moment he struck the sidewalk, drew a sleeve across his dripping forehead.
“That was a corker!” he muttered. “I wonder if I’ve lost the trail?”