Something was on that ledge; something that was shrouded in black. Bob’s heart leaped with an emotion that was one of combined fear and curiosity and with Jacobs at his side he plunged forward through the shrubbery. Chapter XI STRAINED TEMPERS ★ Bob was the first to reach the ledge, which was about two feet above the ground level and well protected from the onslaughts of the storm. His flashlight revealed the figure of a man, swathed in a dark blanket, jammed up against the window. Bob was reaching for the blanket when Arthur Jacobs seized his arm. “Don’t. We’d better wait until we can get your uncle down here.” “No,” decided Bob, “we’ll find out what this is all about right now.” With that he pulled the blanket off the figure and stared down into the pain-wracked eyes of the guard who was usually on duty on his floor. A gag, which had been ruthlessly put in place, made speech for the captive out of the question. “Run for help!” Bob told Arthur Jacobs and the filing chief departed as rapidly as his short legs would carry him. While he was waiting for help, Bob busied himself in an effort to unfasten the captive’s bonds. Picture wire had been used to bind the man’s hands and wrists and the gag was of rough, heavy material which was held in place by strips of adhesive tape. It was to this that Bob gave his first attention for from the expression in the guard’s eyes he knew that the gag was causing him untold agony. With capable but gentle fingers, Bob worked at the gag until the cruel bandage was freed. He bent down close to hear the first whisper from the man’s lips. “Water, please!” Bob half propped the captive up and then turned in quest of some water. Anything halfway decent would do. Nearby a small torrent was coming from one of the drain spouts. It had been raining for hours, so the spouting should have been clean. The filing clerk cupped his hands under the spout and got a double handful of water. This he carried back to the ledge and let it trickle into the other’s mouth. He was just finishing his task when Arthur Jacobs, followed by half a dozen guards, appeared on the run, the beams from their flashlights cutting a broad swath of light through the darkness. The guards picked up the captive and carried him inside. Blankets were produced, the wire was cut from his hands and feet. By this time Merritt Hughes, who had been notified, was down on the ground floor. He took charge immediately. “Get this man to a hospital at once,” he directed. “Two of you go along to see that he talks with no one. Understand, no one. I’ll be around soon and talk with him as soon as they get him into bed and take every precaution to avoid pneumonia.” Bob felt sorry for the guard. He had been stripped of his uniform, bound and gagged and had been helpless on the ledge for hours. It would be a miracle if he did not suffer an attack of pneumonia.