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the sound of the bow- bells
that graced our ears, to my intense relief. "Mr. 'Olmes, be ya
down there? 'Tis Slim."
    "Right you are, Gilligan,"
replied Holmes in his cool est
manner.
    "Best get up 'ere, sir.
Things is a moite warm all 'round
the block."
    Holmes, warned by some instinct,
suddenly hurled his
sword blade like a lance toward the head of the stairs.
There was another howl of pain and a crash of a falling
body. Like an uncoiling spring, the great detec tive
sprang upward toward the outstretched arm of Slim Gilligan,
which was extended through the trap door in the
roof. Grasping the wrist of the safecracker, Holmes reached the side
of the opening with both of his powerful hands and drew his
body, with Gilligan's help, half way
through the hatch.
    "Watson, grab my legs. We'll
get you out of there."
    Loosening two shots from my
revolver, I reached my left
hand overhead and made contact with one of Holmes's
ankles. As I was drawn clear of the floor, I sprayed
the stair landing with the remainder of my car tridges,
dropped my trusty weapon, and flailing wildly with
my right hand made contact with Gilligan's hand. As
Holmes drew his body clear of the opening I somehow managed to
hold onto his ankle and, with Gilligan pulling
on my other arm, my portly form was dragged through
the hole and onto the roof. Gilligan promptly replaced
the trap door as Holmes and I, more than a little
breathless, regained our feet.
    Sounds of battle continued beneath
us and, in the dis tance,
could be heard approaching police vehicles. The street
below was full of running people. We wasted no time
discussing the situation or the fortuitous appear ance
of Slim Gilligan, but followed the master cracks man
as he led us over the roof of the warehouse. It was a
short leap to the roof of the adjacent building. We quickly
crossed it and found that Gilligan, who had ob viously
arrived on the scene in this manner, had stretched
a plank across the space to the next roof in the
block. Gilligan and Holmes went across this slender pathway
to safety in a sure-footed manner but, in trying to
emulate a tight-wire performer, it crossed my mind that
I was much more suited to the life of a country doctor
and, in all honesty, should retire to bucolic and peaceful
surroundings rather than try to dog the foot steps
of the world's greatest detective.
    On the third roof, Gilligan kicked
the plank, which had
served us so well, free of the side of the buildings, to forestall
any pursuit although there was none in evi dence.
    Behind us the sounds of conflict
were dwindling and I
assumed the forces of law and order had arrived on the
scene, but Holmes seemed to wish to avoid the Metropolitan
Police. So the three of us regained the cobble stones
of the street in short order and dodged through a series
of alleys until it was safe to call a halt to our pell-mell
rush and hail a hansom.
    The driver of the conveyance bad
heard the uproar and
questioned us regarding it. Holmes satisfied his curiosity
with the guess that there had been a raid on a gambling
establishment, which was certainly the truth, though
as we well knew it had not been a police raid.

4
    The
Solving of a Message
    31
    When the hansom delivered the
three of us to 221B Baker Street, I couldn't help thinking that the
domicile of Mrs. Hudson had never looked more appealing.
    Billy, the page boy, had the door
open before we could
ring the bell.
    "I give your message to Mr.
Gilligan," he stated to Holmes
with a shy smile.
    "And how fortunate for Doctor
Watson and myself that
you did," replied Holmes.
    I echoed this thought most
emphatically, though si lently.
    In the sitting room, with glasses
in our hands, we tried
to make some sense from the pattern of madness that
had been the road map of the past few hours. Holmes
seemed in no hurry as he thoughtfully extracted shag
from the famous Persian slipper and fueled his pipe.
Nothing could shake the habitual calmness of Slim
Gilligan, but then nerves of steel were what