“Wants us to get free of these things—then find out there’s no way down short of jumping—hello!” He cocked his head, “somebody’s idling an airplane engine!”
“So that’s what the old buzzard meant when he said he’d have to fly! The bunch are making their getaway, eh?”
“Guess so. Well, I’m free—how about you?”
“Yep.”
Both lads sprang to their feet, feeling very stiff and dizzy, and hobbled to a window. They saw that the cupola raised its ugly head on the very center of the slate roof. The roof looked almost flat, but in reality sloped slightly down to rusty tin gutters at its eaves. A glance to the sides showed that the house boasted two yellow brick chimneys. Directly in front of the old mansion, a large field spread out for a quarter of a mile toward the highway. On the field a large monoplane was taxying into the wind, preparatory to the take-off. “Fokker Universal,” muttered Bill.
“I wish we had her up here,” said the young Chief. “We’re wasting time, Bill. We can’t have more than five or six minutes left. Give me a hand with Deborah. We’ll get her out of this window and onto the roof.”
“And then what? There isn’t a tree near the house. If we had a rope—”
“I’ve got it! There must be rainpipes down from the gutters. We’ll go down by one of those.”
“You mean, the leader will go down with you! Those gutters are old and rusty and full of holes. The leaders are sure to be in as bad or worse shape. It would be suicide to try it, especially with one of us carrying Deborah’s weight.”
“Great grief, Bill! What can we do? Think of Deborah—blown to pieces—”