The apartment was littered up with chests, barrels and old furniture. In
one corner was a pile of carpets. Andy walked silently over to these,
threw himself down, and found himself in darkness as the door was again
stoutly padlocked on the outside.

"If anybody cared for me here it might be different," he observed. "As
they don't, I must make friends for myself."

In about half an hour Andy went to the window, It was a small one-pane
sash. Looking out, he could trace the reflection from a light in his
aunt's room on the shrubbery.

Finally this light was extinguished. Andy waited a full hour. He heard
the town bell strike twelve.

The lad took out his pocket knife, opened its big blade, and in a few
minutes had pried off the strip lining the sash. He removed the pane and
set it noiselessly on the floor.

As he stuck his head out through the aperture Andy looked calculating
and serious.

It was fully thirty feet to the ground, and no friendly projection
offered help in a descent.

It was furthermore a question if he could even squeeze through the
window space.

Andy had nothing to make a rope of. The old pieces of carpet could not
be utilized in any way. If he could force his body through the window