Then suddenly the trio straightened as a small voice called Toffee's name. It might have come from anywhere and it might have been any voice, it was so weak. Toffee whirled about, and instantly her gaze darted to the flag-pole at the other end of the roof. There, like a flag unfurled, Marc was clinging to the top ornament for dear life. "Marc!" Toffee screamed and ran to the pole. "Grab the rope and I'll pull you down!" Cautiously, Marc took hold of the ropes, first one hand, then the other. "Hold on tight!" Toffee cautioned and slowly began lowering him toward the roof. As she did so she glanced around at the twins. The two, in what seemed a rather pretty but confused tribute, were holding their hats stiffly over their hearts. Toffee turned back to the pole, renewed her efforts, and brought Marc safely to ground. Then as he clung to the pole for security, she removed a couple of metal weights from the ropes and slipped them into the pockets of his jacket. Briefly, she kissed him on the forehead. "You damned floater!" she breathed with relief and affection. Gingerly, Marc released his hold on the pole and smilingly discovered that he was again stationary. With Toffee's help, he made his way to where the twins were standing, their hats still clasped to their chests. "Retreat's over," Toffee said. "You can put the lids back on." In unison the twins swung their hats up to their heads and held out the revolvers they had been holding under them. "Get 'em up!" they snarled in chorus. "You're coming with us." CHAPTER IX Even the elevators of the Wynant, and the procedures attendant thereto, had a tone of delicate breeding about them. As the doors parted, ever so smoothly, the mechanism emitted a sigh of unmistakable refinement, like a great lady giving vent to a genteel yawn of boredom behind an ivory fan. In the foreground was revealed a uniformed and finely drilled operator who always stood at rigid attention on the occasion of his passengers' debarkation. Thus it was, with all good taste, the Wynant guest was given every opportunity to arrive before the general public and the management with his best foot extended well to the fore. It was one of those small touches that contributed so much to making the Wynant the Wynant, and vice versa. Now, however, the procedure of the elevators, like the best laid plans of mice and mollusks, suddenly went amuck. Eyes turned and widened sharply as the elevator doors flew open with an exclamatory rasp, and not the passengers but the operator quitted the conveyance. Putting one foot forward of the other with all the earnest haste of a scared wombat, it was evident that the poor devil didn't know or even care which of them was the best; he skittered across the foyer and around the edge of the desk with the speed and directness of a well-aimed shot. "It's him!" the wretched man jabbered, cowering beside the clerk. "He's come back to get even with that statue!"