“Gee whiz!” exclaimed Patsy, elated. “I’ve got you. We can lean one of the planks against the rear wall and get up there by means of it.” “Easily.” “We’ll not be heard, either, through that stone wall.” “Not if we are careful.” “Come on,” whispered Patsy impatiently. “Let’s get the plank.” It did not take them long to find one that would serve their purpose, nor to lug it to the rear of the low building and place at an angle against the stone wall. It reached within a foot of the edge of the roof, and that was more than ample. “Shoes off, Patsy,” whispered Chick. Both were ready within half a minute. In another minute both were crouching on the roof. Noiselessly they crept to the skylight and gazed down through the trapdoor on the red-glowing scene below. “Thundering guns!” whispered Patsy, staring. “The rats are there, all right. They are melting a lot of silver plate.” “Part of the Waldmere plate.” “Surest thing you know.” They could not see Nick, owing to the location of the trap in the upper floor, but while listening intently--they heard him addressed by Floyd and his name mentioned. “Holy smoke!” Patsy then whispered. “They’ve got the chief.” “I heard,” Chick nodded, feeling over the skylight. “Hadn’t we better get help and force an entrance?” “Floyd might send a bullet into Nick, in that case, before he could be prevented. There’s a better way.” “What way?” Chick held up one of the small panes of the skylight. He had found the putty dry and crumbling, and, after a moment, he had quietly removed the pane. Feeling through the opening, he then found that he could release the hook that secured the scuttle. “That upper floor is less than seven feet below the skylight,” he whispered. “We can let ourselves down to it without a drop. The noise down there will prevent our being heard, providing we are careful. There must be a stairway to the lower floor. We can steal down and hold up the whole gang.” Patsy nodded his approval. “Better way is right,” he murmured. “It looks like soft walking.” “It will enable us to protect Nick, also.” “That’s the stuff. Safety first.” “Are you ready?” “Ready as a trivet.” Working cautiously and deliberately, Chick succeeded in lifting the skylight without making a sound, and he laid it over on the roof. “I’ll go first, Patsy,” he murmured. Patsy merely nodded. Chick let himself over the sill, then grasped the frame of the scuttle and lowered himself till his feet touched the floor some eighteen inches from the trapdoor. Patsy followed him. The scene below was, indeed, one that diverted the attention of the crooks from anything overhead. It was at that very moment that Stuart Floyd, fiercely threatening the detective, had seized the ladle of liquid silver from the melting pot and was approaching with the evident intention of making good his infamous threat. Chick Carter did not give him time to do so.