What he intended doing I had no idea yet, but he went ahead with
assurance and I followed, equally confident, for he must have had
adventures something like this before. On the roof, a clothesline,
which he commandeered and tied about a chimney, served to let him
down the few feet from the higher apartment roof to that of the
dwelling house next to it, one of the row in which number 99 was
situated.
Quickly he tiptoed over to the chimney of the brownstone house a
few doors down and, as he did so, I saw him take from his pocket
the cedar box. A string tied to a weight told him which of the
flues reached down to the room on the first floor, back.
That determined, he let the little cedar box fastened to an
entwined pair of wires down the flue. He then ran the wires back
across the roof to the apartment, up, and into a little storm shed
at the top of the last flight of stairs which led from the upper
hall to the roof.
"There is nothing more that we can do here just yet," he remarked
after he had hauled himself back to me on the higher roof.
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