The idea of offering freely his blood and money to Uncle Sam and at the same time putting one over on the old gentleman had a novel appeal.
He stood up and wiped a tickling cobweb from his cheek.

As the window from which he had descended came into range he stared, loose-jawed.

Then be chuckled, as thoroughbred adventurers generally chuckle when they find themselves at the bottom of the sack, the mouth of which has simultaneously and automatically closed.

Wasn't he the brainy old top?
Wasn't he Sherlock Holmes plus?
Old fool, how the devil was he going to get back through that window?
The drums of jeopardy--even to think of them was unlucky! Not to have planned a retreat; to have climbed down a well and cut the bucket rope! For in effect that was precisely what he had done.

Only wings could carry him up to that window.