Ashton Sanborn felt the staple he had tried before. It was still warm, but bearable to the touch. “I’ll go first. It’s a good thing you wore gloves.”
“Yes, but I wish they were leather, not cotton. Still, my hands feel all right.”
“That’s good. Got a handkerchief? Here’s mine. Stuff one inside each glove. They’ll protect the thin skin of your palms.”
“Thanks. Gee, this is a wild party, isn’t it? I didn’t expect to be throwing coal at light bulbs—or stuffing handkerchiefs in my gloves—but say, sir, what about Lambert?”
“Lord! I’d almost forgotten him. Here, lend me a hand with the ladder. It will be useful after all. We don’t want our friend to topple over with the chair and let them in that way.”
They placed the top of the ladder against the upper panel of the door and thrust the bound man’s head between two of the rungs. Then they jammed the foot of the ladder into one of the bookshelves, removing half a dozen books to make way for it. It fitted and held firmly.
“Good! Now, you keep the ladder nicely in position, Lambert,” warned the detective. “The chances are if they break down the door, they’ll break your neck. Sorry—but time means more than kindness just now. You weren’t too considerate of a certain young lady the other night, either. And it will probably save the state the price of a hangman—So long!”
They left the silent figure and again essayed the ascent of the chimney. The air was almost stifling, but the staples held. Through clouds of soot dislodged by their progress, the two made their way upward. There came a slope in the angle of the chimney, and a dim square appeared overhead, a shade less dark than the blackness that enveloped them.
Sanborn felt for his electric torch, then remembered he had left it in his car. Feeling in his pockets, he finally produced a box of matches. After considerable trouble, he managed to strike one. The draught immediately extinguished it. The nearer they got to the top, however, the less dark the chimney seemed. Meanwhile he had to feel round for every staple, sending showers of soot upon Bill with every movement.
Again Sanborn felt the wall. Yes, there was no doubt about it. A good twenty feet to go, and no more staples. Well, there was nothing for it except to travel mountaineering fashion, back braced against one wall, feet against the other. It seemed simple enough, but when he attempted it, the chimney proved too wide, and he all but crashed onto Bill just below.