In Consolidated Edison's big power plant, the guard was friendly. "I
hear the Major's over on your boat, pal. Big doings. Got a lot of the
girls there, hey?"
He bent, sniggering, to look at my pass.
"That's right, pal," I said, and slugged him.
Arthur screamed at me with a shrill blast of steam as I came in. But
only once. I wasn't there for conversation. I began ripping apart his
comfy little home of steel braces and copper wires, and it didn't take
much more than a minute before I had him free. And that was very
fortunate because, although I had tied up the guard, I hadn't done it
very well, and it was just about the time I had Arthur's steel case
tucked under my arm that I heard a yelling and bellowing from down the
stairs.
The guard had got free.
"Keep calm, Arthur!" I ordered sharply. "We'll get out of this, don't
you worry!"
But he wasn't worried, or anyway didn't show it, since he couldn't. I
was the one who was worried. I was up on the second floor of the
plant, in the control center, with only one stairway going down that I
knew about, and that one thoroughly guarded by a man with a grudge
against me. Me, I had Arthur, and no weapon, and I hadn't a doubt in
the world that there were other guards around and that my friend would
have them after me before long.
Problem. I took a deep breath and swallowed and considered jumping out
the window. But it wasn't far enough to the ground.
Feet pounded up the stairs, more than two of them. With Arthur
dragging me down on one side, I hurried, fast as I could, along the
steel galleries that surrounded the biggest boiler. It was a nice
choice of alternatives--if I stayed quiet, they would find me; if I
ran, they would hear me, and then find me.
But ahead there was--what? Something. A flight of stairs, it looked
like, going out and, yes, _up_. Up? But I was already on the second
floor.
"Hey, you!" somebody bellowed from behind me.
I didn't stop to consider. I ran. It wasn't steps, not exactly; it was
a chain of coal scoops on a long derrick arm, a moving bucket
arrangement for unloading fuel from barges. It did go up, though, and
more important it went _out_. The bucket arm was stretched across the
clogged roadway below to a loading tower that hung over the water.
If I could get there, I might be able to get down. If I could get
down--yes, I could see it; there were three or four mahogany motor
launches tied to the foot of the tower.
And nobody around.
I looked over my shoulder, and didn't like what I saw, and scuttled up
that chain of enormous buckets like a roach on a washboard, one hand
for me and one hand for Arthur.
* * * * *
Thank heaven, I had a good lead on my pursuers--I needed it. I was on
the bucket chain while they were still almost a city block behind me,
along the galleries. I was halfway across the roadway, afraid to look
down, before they reached the butt end of the chain.
Clash-clatter. _Clank!_ The bucket under me jerked and clattered and
nearly threw me into the street. One of those jokers had turned on the
conveyor! It was a good trick, all right, but not quite in time. I
made a flying jump and I was on the tower.