“And that’s that,” said Bill, still keeping his voice to a whisper. “Disgusting old beast! Let’s turn off the lights in here and try the window. Anything is better than lying here.”

“Wait a minute—I’ve an idea!” Sanborn pointed to the fireplace. Bill nodded and together they wriggled across the rugs.

The chimney, with its grate of glowing coals, was an old-fashioned structure. Although probably no older than this modern residence, it appeared to be a worthy monument of another generation. Wide at the base, it tapered toward the top, and on its inner walls a number of iron staples, rusty and covered with soot, led upward.
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Sanborn stepped within the chimney and grasped the first staple. “Phew!” he gasped, jerking his hand away, “—hot!”

“And probably insecure.” Bill was beside him now. They were out of the line of fire from the door and windows. “I’ll tell you what—that ladder! Wait—” He picked up a small shovel from the hearth. “I’ll get these live coals into the scuttle. That should cool the chimney some.”

Sanborn helped with a tongs, and the coals were quickly transferred. Bill found a wall switch and turned off the light. Together they went to the window by which Bill had entered, and cautiously lifting the shade a couple of inches, they peered through the glass. Three men, revolvers in hand, were approaching the ladder across a flower bed.

“Get ’em in the legs,” whispered Sanborn.
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Two shots rang out like one, and two of the attackers dropped in their tracks. The third, evidently deciding that distance lent enchantment, streaked for the shadow of the trees without returning their fire. They let him go.

Bill raised the window and they seized the topmost rung of the ladder and started to haul it into the library. It was half-way through the window when there came a flash from the corner of the house. The glass door of a bookcase was shattered, but neither Bill nor the detective paid any attention to it. A second more and the ladder was inside.

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.
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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.”
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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.”
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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 o............