“Can you raise yourself hand-over-hand?”
“I can try.”
“Well, lose no time.”
Slowly, and with great difficulty, the portly doctor began his task.
He would not have reached the cupola had not Nick finally let go one hand from its hold on the sheet, and with it caught Abbott by the arm. Then he seized the physician with the other hand, and the rescue was completed. Abbott came through the opening into the cupola as if he were fastened to a derrick.
The thunder was crashing on all sides by this time. Smoke was also rolling out of the house by the doors and windows, and Nick knew that they would have no time to lose in getting down to the ground.
Seizing with a firm grasp the bottle he had brought from the prison room below, he made an assault upon the glass inclosure of the cupola. Crash! crash! went the crystal plates, until an opening was secured large enough to let Nick crawl through to the roof.
He turned and was assisting the doctor through, when the latter suddenly pointed over Nick’s shoulder and cried:
“Look there, under that tree!”
Nick directed his attention to the place Abbott indicated—a large elm tree, about sixty feet from the house.