“Take one of my revolvers, then,” said Chick, giving it to him. “We may run foul of some one.” “I’ll be ready for him. I hope it may be that whelp that downed me. I can see where he’d get his.” Chick laughed softly. “Come on,” he muttered, leading the way. “We’ll steal through the alley and have a look at the back of these buildings.” Patsy followed him. For something like five minutes they searched cautiously and noiselessly back of the gloomy buildings and between the sheds and hovels, but could find in the darkness no trace of the vanished rascals, no clew to their whereabouts. They then had brought up near the rag shed in which Nick had found the disguised crook, and some twenty yards from the grim and gloom-shrouded stone building. “Gee! this don’t look good to me!” Patsy whispered, at Chick’s elbow. “They sure have given us the slip.” “It does look so,” Chick quietly admitted. “There isn’t a sign of light from any of these miserable cribs. It ought to find its way out through some chink or nail hole, if they are under cover in any of them.” “True.” “We had better----” “Hush! Stop a bit.” “What now?” Patsy whispered, noting the changed expression on Chick’s face. “There’s something doing.” “What do you mean?” “Look there.” Chick pointed to the stone building, not to its grim walls and black windows, from which not a twinkle of light could be seen--but higher, to a point above its low, flat roof. In the middle of it was a scuttle and glass skylight--and Stuart Floyd had made one mistake that was to bring disaster. In opening the trapdoor in the ceiling, which was nearly directly above the melting pot, he had forgotten the skylight in a line with the trapdoor. Chick and Patsy had not, till then, looked up in that direction for a clew. Now, however, both could see the faint glow that came up from below and stood out in relief, as it were, against the surrounding night gloom. It was like the glow shed out from the open door of a brightly lighted hall. “Holy smoke!” Patsy muttered, with a quick thrill. “There’s some one in the old stone crib.” “More than one, Patsy, I suspect,” Chick whispered. “Can we get in?” “Wait here while I have a look.” “Go ahead.” Chick glided away in the darkness, presently returning. “I don’t think we can get in on the ground floor,” he said quietly. “The door and window shutters are of sheet iron, and all are securely closed.” “Gee! that sure smacks of something doing.” “I’m convinced of it, now.” “Could you hear anything from inside?” “Not a sound,” said Chick. “There is a way, however, by which we can look in.” “You mean?” Chick pointed toward the roof. “There’s a skylight,” he said quietly. “Must be,” Patsy tersely agreed. “But how can we get up there?” “It’s not more than eighteen feet to the edge of the roof. I climbed over several planks back here that are that long.”