“You’ll make it or get lynched!” gasped Davidson, then, barging the other as in a game of football, forced him into the gap.
Lord Sanderlake hit his head against the concrete and grazed his face on the ventilator’s grilles, but he was in, and Davidson was following him.
“We’ve a chance,” grunted Davidson. “No one’d ever think that you and me could get in here and —”
He broke off abruptly as, across the roof, the fire-door opened and their pursuers appeared. A dozen men burst out on to the roof and looked about them. In spite of the fog, the sky-signs and the bright lights of an electric newspaper illuminated the roof fairly well, and it took the would-be lynchers hardly a minute to decide there was no one up there.
“They must be hiding somewhere in the building!” shouted one. “Come on!
