There was only one other means,--the window. He went to it and looked out. It was fully sixty feet from the ground, and there was nothing, in the shape of a lightning rod, or a rain-pipe leader to cling to. Nothing but the bare tenement house wall, broken here and there with other windows. Roy leaned far out. He knew it was useless to shout, as the noise from the electric shop drowned all other sound. Nor could he see any one whose attention he might attract. It was necessary for him that he work quickly, for Wakely, or one of his friends, might return any moment. Yet how could Roy get out of the window and to the ground? He looked about the room for something to aid him. His first thought was of the bed clothes. He had read of persons tying sheets together, after tearing them into strips, and so making a rope. But there were no sheets on his bed, merely a small blanket, for it was warm weather. There was nothing in the shape of a rope in the room. It looked as if Roy would have to remain a prisoner. Suddenly an idea came to him as he looked at his large valise which, with his trunk, had been brought to his room. "I have it!" he exclaimed. "My lasso! It's long enough!" It did not take a minute to get it from the valise. It was a long thin lariat, strong enough to support several pounds, and he knew it would reach over a hundred feet. "Lucky I thought to bring that with me," he said, "though Billy Carew laughed at me, and asked if I expected to rope any steers in the streets of New York. I guess he didn't figure on this." It did not take Roy two minutes to fasten one end of the lariat to the bed, which was the heaviest article in the room. Then he tossed the other end out of the window, noting that it touched the ground, with several feet to spare. "Now for it!" murmured the boy. "It's a dangerous climb, to go down hand over hand, but I think I can slide it!" Testing the lasso to make sure it was securely fastened, he put one leg over the window sill, grasped the lariat with both hands, and swung himself off. As he did so he heard the door of his room open, and some one rushed in. There was a cry of alarm. "That's Wakely," reasoned Roy. "He's discovered that I'm gone." An instant later the face of Wakely appeared at the window. He shouted to Roy: "Come back here!" "Not much!" "Then I'll cut the rope!" Wakely drew out his knife, but, before he had a chance to use it he was pulled back, and the face of Mortimer De Royster replaced that of Roy's late captor. CHAPTER XXII GETTING A CLUE Roy was so astonished at the sight of his friend, the jewelry salesman, peering out of the window that he nearly let go his hold of the rope. He recovered himself quickly, however, and slid on toward the ground. As he looked up at the casement he could see that De Royster and Wakely were having some kind of a struggle.