Andy did not lose his presence of mind.  Just the same as if he was on the rafters of the old barn at home, or practicing on a rope strung from two high tree tops, as had been many a time the case, he calculated his chances and set his skill at work.

He ventured a brief swing on the frail strip of canvas.  As it finally tore free in his hand, Andy dropped it.  He had got his momentum, however.  It was to swing sideways and down.  The next instant Andy was at the side of Thacher.  One hand caught and held to a rope of the trapeze.  There Andy anchored, resting one knee on the edge of the performing bar.

“You’re a good one!” muttered the trapezist in wonder.  “Don’t get rattled, now.”

“Not while I’ve got my grip.  Say,” projected Andy, “I’m sorry to interrupt the performance, but it’s a matter of life or death.”

“Eh?” uttered Thacher in a puzzled way.  “What’s up?”

“Do you know a man named Murdock?”

“Ring man, fired last week.  Yes.  What of it?”

“Do you know a man named Daley?”

“Fired, too—­for drinking.  I took his place on this team.”

“They hate you.  They have plotted to disable you.  The trapeze yonder—­Murdock has cut the ropes, secured the bar with thread, and the slightest touch will send a performer to the ring with broken limbs.”

“What!  Are you crazy or fooling?  Doped the rigging?  Why, that’s murder, kid!”

“They have done it just the same.  Listen.”

Faster than he had ever talked before Andy told of the conversation he had overheard in the old hay barn.  He hurriedly recited his failure in reaching the manager.  He told of his rapid ascent of the top canvas.  The present denouement had resulted.

Under his face rouge Thacher showed the shock of vivid emotions.  The murmur below was increasing.  The manager was looking up impatiently.

Old Benares, across on his trapeze, regarded his partner in bewilderment.

Suddenly Thacher shot out some words towards him.  It was a kind of circus gibberish, mixed with enough straight English to enlighten Andy that his story was being imparted to Old Benares.

“You must get me out of this,” said Andy.  “The audience is becoming restive.”

Thacher extended his hand, the back showing, in the direction of the orchestra.  The band, at this signal, struck up a quick, lively tune.

“Get clear on the bar,” directed Thacher rapidly, giving Andy more room.  “Say,” he added, in some surprise at Andy’s cleverness, “you seem at home all right.  Performer?”

“Oh, no—­only a little amateur practice.”

“It’s given you the right nerve.  Now then, you can’t get up again, you’ve got to go down.  Want to do it gracefully?”

“Sure,” smiled Andy, perfectly calm and collected.

The situation rather delighted him than otherwise.  He had supreme confidence in his companion, and felt that he was in safe hands.