One lighted window was visible--a square window in
the opposite building, from which amber light shone out.
Somewhere in the street beyond was a standard lamp. He could
detect the halo which it cast into the misty rain. The glass was
very dirty, and young Kerry raised the sash, admitting a draught
of damp, cold air into the room. He craned out, looking about
him eagerly.
A rainwater-pipe was within reach of his hand on the right of the
window and, leaning out still farther, young Kerry saw that it
passed beside two other, larger, windows on the floor beneath
him. Neither of these showed any light.
Dizzy heights have no terror for healthy youth. The brackets
supporting the rain-pipe were a sufficient staircase for the
agile Dan, a more slippery prisoner than the famous Baron Trenck;
and, discarding his muffler and his Burberry, he climbed out upon
the sill and felt with his thick-soled boots for the first of
these footholds. Clutching the ledge, he lowered himself and
felt for the next.
Then came the moment when he must trust all his weight to the
pipe. Clenching his teeth, he risked it, felt for and found the
third angle, and then, still clutching the pipe, stood for a
moment upon the ledge of the window immediately beneath him.
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