Clambering quickly aloft I grasped the edge of the eaves and drew myself to the surface of the roof above. As I gained my feet I was confronted by the sentry on duty, into the muzzle of whose revolver I found myself looking.

“Who are you and whence came you?” he cried.

“I am an air scout, friend, and very near a dead one, for just by the merest chance I escaped falling to the avenue below,” I replied.

“But how came you upon the roof, man? No one has landed or come up from the building for the past hour. Quick, explain yourself, or I call the guard.”

“Look you here, sentry, and you shall see how I came and how close a shave I had to not coming at all,” I answered, turning toward the edge of the roof, where, twenty feet below, at the end of my strap, hung all my weapons.