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“He was makin’ his getaway by a rope from his window,” Myers explained. “We grabbed him the minute he landed.”
“Sure—sure,” said Barnes. “Well, Hung—that’s the second time to-night the old fire-escape proved a handy invention, eh?”
Hung did not speak. He faced the detective with a dignity that was somehow pathetic and hopeless.
“Don’t try that stony-stare stuff on me,” Barnes warned. “I know you came down that way before. I—that is, we—I mean Mr. Drew here and I—found a few strands of the rope caught in the rough ledge of the window-sill.” He passed round Hung into the hall, and returned with the bundle he had hidden beneath the cushion of a chair. As he now unrolled it I perceived that it was a pair of Hung’s trousers, wrapped about a pair of cheap American-made shoes. “You’re getting awful careless where you put your clothes, ain’t you, Hung?”
