as going down the straining, smooth rope now, hand under hand.

The dense crowd in the street below was quick to realize that
something new and tragic was on the cards.

A gasp of suspense went up as Dave slowly went down.

Many in the street uttered a silent prayer---for heroes are ever
dear to the multitude.

Dave's task now was more dangerous than Dick's original undertaking
had been.

The smoke was rolling up with ever increasing density.

"I'll close one eye, and save that to see Dick with," Darrin muttered
grimly to himself.

So, with one eye closed tightly, Dave yet knew when the instant
came to swing in and stand on the sill.

Opening the closed eye, Darrin sought to peer into the studio.

Such a gust of smoke came out at him that Darrin very nearly lost
his balance from dizziness.

"I can't see a blessed thing in there," Dave muttered. So he
sprang inside.

Now, quickly enough Dave stumbled over the prostrate figure of
his unconscious comrade.

Fairly pouncing upon Prescott, Dave half raised that body, then
dragged it to the window.

"Pull!" Darrin yelled up to Tom Reade, peering over the roof's edge.

Over the roar of the fire Dave's voice did not carry well, but
his gesture was seen.

Reade gave the command, and the hoisting commenced, while Dave,
standing at his post, though choking, and his brain reeling, swung
Dick's feet clear of the sill.

Then the body began to go up quickly, while the crowd watched
in greater awe than ever.

Dave Darrin leaped out upon the sill, holding a handkerchief over
his mouth and nostrils in order to protect his lungs as much as
possible.

With the other hand Dave clutched at the window frame, for he
had a fearful dread, now that he would lose his hold, his footing
and plunge headlong into the street.

Dick's body disappeared over the roof edge.

After what seemed like a short age, but what was only a few moments,
Reade again showed his face, dangling the noose in his hand.

Then he let it fall until it hung close to Darrin.

Reade and the crowd alike watched breathlessly, while Dave Darrin,
fumbling, almost blindly, tried to slip the noose over his head
and adjust it under his shoulders.

Once he let go of the rope, half swaying out into the street.

A cry of terror went up from the spectators below.

Tom Reade carefully swung the rope back again. Dave caught it.
After it had seemed as though he must fail Dave at last adjusted
the noose unde