I had not the faintest notion regarding the immediate plans of Robbins, until we came to a short flight of steps leading aloft.
Here he stopped.
Then I saw where the desperate condition of affairs had hurried him.
To the azotea!
These stairs led to the flat roof, where, in common with houses in sub-tropical countries, the inmates have arranged things for comfort during many an evening when the breeze enjoyed here cools the heated cheek.
“Up with you, Morgan,” he said.
I did not waste breath in asking questions—Robbins ran the game, and mine must be the duty of blind, unswerving obedience.
Besides, the shouts were so close to us, I expected at any instant to see those who gave utterance to them.
So I assisted Hildegarde up.
As we emerged and gained the roof, I found the stars shining overhead.