the doors. Locks
gone. He took it for granted that the real-estate agent would not come
round with prospective tenants. These doors would take them into the
trucking alley, where there were a dozen feasible exits. There was no
way out of the house yard, as the brick wall, ten feet high and running
from warehouse to warehouse, was blind. Now for the trap on the roof.

He climbed the three flights of stairs crisscrossed and festooned with
ancient cobwebs. Occasionally he sneezed in the crook of his elbow,
philosophizing over the fact that there was a lot of deadwood property
in New York. Americans were eternally on the move.

The window from which he intended dropping to the house roof was
obdurate. Only the upper half was movable. With hardly any noise at all
he pulled this down, straddled it, balanced himself, secured a good grip
on the ledge, and let himself down. The tips of his shoes, rubber-soled,
just reached the roof. He landed silently.

The glare of the street lamp at the corner struck the warehouse, and
this indirect light was sufficient to work by. He made the trap after a
series of extra-cautious steps. The roof was slanting and pebbled, and
the least turn of the foot might start a cascade and bell an alarm. A
comfort-loving dress-suiter like himself, playing Old Sleuth, when he
ought to be home and in bed! It was all of two-thirty. What the deuce
would he do when there were no more thrills in life?

He stooped and caught hold of a corner of the trap to test it--and drew
back with a silent curse. Glass! He had cut his hand. The beggars had
covered the trap with cement and broken glass, sealing it. It would
take time to cut round the trap; and even then he wouldn't be sure; they
might have nailed it down from the inside. The worst of it was he would
have to do the work himself; and in the meantime Karlov would have a
fair wind for his propaganda gas, and perhaps the disposal of the drums
to some collector who wasn't above bargaining for smuggled emeralds.
Odd, though, that Karlov should have made a prisoner of Coles. What lay
behind that manoeuvre? Well, this trap must be liberated; no getting
round that.

Hang it, he wasn't going to be dishonest exactly; it would be simply
a double play, half for Uncle Sam and half for himself. The idea of
offering freely his blood and money to Uncle Sam and at the same time
putting one over on the old gentleman had a novel appeal.

He stood up and wiped a tickling cobw