Sanborn mopped the perspiration from his brow. “Jiminy! That was close, Bill.”
Bill nodded and stuck his head out of the window. “Lucky they can’t see us, sir. They might try to snipe us from behind the trees.”
As though in answer to his challenge, without warning, the chandelier that hung from the ceiling in a spray of electric bulbs, sprang into light.
“Duck, Bill, duck!” A fusillade of shots rang out as the pair dropped to the floor.
Bill’s eyes fell upon the pile of black coal he had dumped from the scuttle before filling it with the hot ones from the grate. Motioning Sanborn to follow, he wormed his way to the hearth and picked up a good-sized piece of coal. He handed it to Sanborn and took a similar piece himself. Then he pointed to the electric bulbs, and winked cheerfully.
They hurled their missiles simultaneously. Bill’s was a bullseye but the detective’s fell short of the mark. With the “plop” and the tinkle of falling glass, one of the bulbs was out of action. Bill grabbed another coal and a moment later the room went dark again.
“Good shooting, Bill.”
“Not so worse. Now gimme a hand with the ladder, sir. We’ll push it up the chimney.”
It was easier said than done. The ladder was too long and the angle too acute.
“Never mind, Bill. We must chance it.”