At nine o’clock a noisy group of country louts succeeded in reaching the room that led by a narrow winding stairs to the upper room of the Woolworth tower. They were singing loyal songs for God and Emperor! Their pilot was drunk but good-natured and determined to show them the pinnacle. The cautious red-faced Captain in charge of the wireless, who had been celebrating a little on the quiet, had thawed to a genial mood. “T’ree cheers for Zemperor!” the jovial pilot from the country shouted. The Captain laughed and joined the chorus. He glanced contemptuously at the giggling girls. “Say, Cap,” the leader cried, leaning heavily on his shoulder--“my girls gotter see the fireworks--from the top--tip top! I promised ’em I’d take ’em to the very tip top--gotter make good--” His legs wobbled and his breath was heavy with beer. The Captain laughed. “Think you could climb these winding stairs?” “Surest thing you know.” The drunken man staggered to the steps, rushed half way up, slipped and fell, sprawling to the floor. The Captain roared. “Try again!” he shouted. “I’ll let you go but not these women!” The girls joined in the laughter while he made another ludicrous effort and slipped again. The two operators left their instruments and peered down the shaft. “Go back to your places--this is my show!” the Captain called. The drunken countryman watched them withdraw with wagging head but keen eye. He saw there were only two. He knew his task now. He made another desperate effort to climb the spiral, turned a complete somersault and came down headforemost. The Captain slipped to a sitting posture weak with laughter. “Shay, pardner, help me!” the drunken one pleaded. “No--this is my show--it’s too good to lose--I’m the audience--help yourself!” The drunken countryman tried it backward this time, holding first to the rail. The Captain wiped the tears from his eyes and bent again to laugh as the fool reached the last step and waved in triumph. He turned and staggered against the wall feeling his way to the door beyond. The girls crowded about the Captain. “Please let us go too!” they chimed in chorus. The Captain was adamant. They kept up their parrot cries until the crash above came. They heard the blow that felled the first operator--the shuffle of feet, the tiger spring, the smothered cry. It was all over with the Captain before the cry. Three fierce, athletic girls bore him to the floor and held his writhing body until it was still. “All right!” Vassar called. “Stand guard now at the door leading from the elevator--inside the door. Let no one pass!” The leader of his guard touched her hat in salute. He took his place at the operator’s table and answered a call from the tower of the Governor-General’s palace. “Your wireless stations have all answered?” the machine sang. “All”--was the brief answer. “I’ll give you the signal for the Emperor’s toast on the stroke of twelve.” “Good!” Vassar answered with a grim smile.