"I've asked a dozen people, and nobody has seen him. I tell you, man,
he's asleep up in that room yet, and will be burned to death!" exclaimed
the gentleman, whom Jerry knew quite well. He was very lame and walked
with difficulty.

His brother, a balloonist of national reputation, had been visiting him
recently, and on account of some sickness at the house, had taken a room
at the hotel.

"But no sane man could sleep through all this beastly row; and sure we
haven't seen any one at the windows, have we, boys?" went on the fat
hotel man.

"But you don't understand. I tell you he has been unable to sleep for
several nights, and just before he left me early to-night he took a
sleeping powder that he said would make him dead to the world for eight
hours! He's up in his room yet, and will be lost unless some one goes
and drags him out!" cried Mr. Smythe.

"Which is his room, Mr. Ten Eyck?" demanded an eager voice.

The stout hotel man looked at the speaker, who was none other than Jerry.

"You see that window over there at the end of the house, third
floor--that's his room! But the stairs must be ablaze by now, boy! It
would be suicide to think of trying to go up there!" he cried.

"Come on, Frank; we'll take a look in, anyhow!" shouted Jerry as he
dashed off, followed by his chum, equally excited.