doing he had wound one
foot round a stave of iron which rose up out of the parapet to form the
base of Rhea's bronze throne, and so steadied himself for the nonce.
But it was a difficult task indeed to free himself from this clutching,
scratching, biting Thing, and it took all his powers of resistance to
combat him successfully.

"Stop it--damn you!--stop it!" he gave out furiously, in an angry
whisper which at least reached Mr. Narkom's ears, and sent the
night-owl's hoot creeping eerily out over the silence of that black
night to tell Cleek that he would come to the rescue if necessary. And
Cleek hooted back. He couldn't do this thing alone--it was too much for
him. The space upon which they wrestled was a mere foot and a half in
breadth, and at any moment one or both of them might pitch down into the
darkness to certain death.

He peered into the man's fury-ridden face, trying to distinguish the
features of it, but the upper half was covered with a black mask through
which the eyes gleamed like slits of fire, and the strength of him
seemed superhuman, to say the least of it. It was merely a matter of
moments now--something would have to be done--when, of a sudden, the man
leapt away from him, reached down an arm again, and--lithe as a
cat--swung himself down upon the perilously narrow ledge of the great
bronze bell. Here was Cleek's chance. In an instant his hand had shot
out toward the man's leg and caught it in a vise, while with the other
he steadied himself by a firm hold of the wrought-iron stave that had
saved him a moment or two before.

The creature spat out his vindictiveness in a string of Italian oaths,
and Cleek, paying not the slightest attention to him, merely hung on
tighter to the ankle and prayed for help. Another few moments of this
strain and--the fight would be lost. His arm muscles were strained to
their utmost, his whole body upon the rack. He sent forth the summons of
the night-owl again and again, and was rewarded by the sound beneath him
of a hasty exclamation from the Superintendent, a muttered "My Gawd!"
from the hoarse throat of that little bit of Cockneydom who had served
him and saved him many times before, and then the whispered words,
"Comin', Guv'nor--there in a tick!" came with their ring of comfort, and
he exerted himself to the last ounce to retain his hold of the biting,
clutching furious Thing that lay twisting itself, save for that
unfortunate leg in Cleek's grasp, upon the n