“The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals ought to get after whoever that was,” said Helen indignantly, and there was an approving murmur from some of those near her.

“Does any one know that lady?” asked Joe, pointing at the figure in the window.  A pathetic figure it was, too, of an old woman clad in black, as though she had lost all her friends.

“Yes, she’s a queer character,” said some one who seemed to know.  “Lives up there all alone in the old house that, except for the upper part where she is now, has been turned into offices.

“She’s rich, they say.  Owns that building and a lot of others on this street.  But she lives all alone in a few rooms, and has a lot of pet cats.  I guess that’s one which got away.”

“It got away all right,” said another man.  “And I don’t believe she’ll ever get it back.  The cat’s scared to death.”

“Why doesn’t it jump?” asked some one.  “I heard that cats always land on their feet, no matter how far they fall.”

“A fall from there would kill any cat,” said Joe, as he handed Helen a small package he had been carrying—­a purchase he had made at one of the stores.

“What are you going to do?” she asked, sensing that Joe Strong had some object in mind.

“I’m going to get that cat,” he said in a low voice.  “I can’t bear to see it harmed, and it can’t cling there much longer.  Night’s coming on, too, and if it isn’t rescued soon it won’t be until morning.  I know what it is to have a pet suffer.  I’m going to get that cat!”

“Oh, mister, you can’t!” cried a small girl who was standing near by and overheard this remark.

“I should say not!” exclaimed the man who had given a little personal sketch of the woman in black.  “The longest ladder in the fire department won’t reach up to that wire, and they can’t use extension ones, or scaling ones as they could on a building.  You can’t get that cat, sir, though I wish some one could.  I don’t like to see dumb brutes suffer.  But you can’t get it!”

“Perhaps I can!” said Joe modestly.

He started toward the street entrance of the old building, from the upper window of which leaned the pathetic figure of the woman calling to her cat out on the swaying wire.

“Oh, Joe,” Helen began, “are you really going to—­” and then she stopped.

“I am!” he answered, for he knew she understood.  “Wait here for me.  I won’t be long.”

Only a few in the crowd had heard what Joe said, or understood his intentions as he made his way through the press of people.  The woman at the window was unaware of the fact that some one had heard her and was about to heed her appeal.

“A hundred dollars to whoever saves my cat!” she cried again.

This time no one laughed.

Joe Strong, acrobat, athlete, magician, and possessed of many other muscular accomplishments started up the stairs.  The lower part of the office building was deserted at this hour, but he made his way to the place where he judged the woman lived alone.  He was confirmed in this belief by hearing from behind a closed door the barking and whining of dogs.