"That's one thing you can be sure of," Dr. Romadka snapped, shedding his smiles and subtlety. "Get this straight, Phil, you're coming with me whether you want to or not. In case you're thinking about running away again, I have several friends outside." "Then that's swell," Jack said, "I'm all for it. We'll be glad to get rid of him." Juno, who had been frowning for a long while, now rocked her head like a puzzled bull. "Gee, Jack, I dunno," she said. "I don't like it at all." "Juno--" Jack began threateningly. "I don't like the idea of tossing the little guy to the wolves," she finished defiantly. "To the wolves, Mrs. Jones?" Dr. Romadka asked dangerously. "That's done to save others. Please explain--" But at that moment Sacheverell came hustling forward with great determination. There were no longer any traces of sympathy in the stern glance he fixed on Phil. "I think that Anton and Jack are quite right," he announced, seizing Phil by shoulder and elbow and marching him toward the door. "I'm tired of your deceptions, Mr. Gish. You go right along with Anton and his friends, and no nonsense." Phil heard a grunt of satisfaction from Dr. Romadka. He tried to twist away from Sacheverell, but the latter pressed even more closely to his side, so that his face was next to Phil's ear, and suddenly whispered, "Up the stairs, two flights." The next moment, Phil felt himself pushed away, while Sacheverell reeled with a yelp into Dr. Romadka, who was stooping for his black bag, and at the same time managed to upset the antique floor lamp that dimly lit the hall. Then Phil was racing up the creaking stairs in the sudden darkness, helping himself along by yanks at the ricketty balustrade, while behind him he heard shouts and racing footsteps. Nearest were those of Sacheverell, who was crying manfully, "There he goes! After him, everyone!" Phil raced along the backstretch of corridor and up the second flight, Sacheverell flapping at his heels like a green bat. At the top he grabbed Phil and shoved him through a door. For a moment their faces were close. "Out the window and over the beam," Sacheverell whispered. "Dare anything for _him_." Then the door was swiftly shut and he heard Sacheverell yell, "He's gone up in the attic. Follow me." Phil was in darkness, facing a tall window dimly aglow from outside, while about his feet cats who had taken refuge in the room scurried frantically. He walked over to the double-paned thing of wavy, ancient glass. He had read more than one comedy scene involving the impossibility of opening such primitive windows, but this one came up easily enough and all the way. He ducked through and crouched on the sill outside, steadying himself with one hand.