Frank bounded toward the door, but it closed with a slam, and he recoiled helplessly from the shock of striking against it. Again and again he flung himself against that door, but it refused to yield, and he realized that he was a helpless prisoner in the burning building, abandoned to his doom by those dastardly ruffians.
There was another door, and Frank tried that, but it was as solid as the first.
He looked for windows, but the only one he could see was in the roof, far above his head.
“Cooped up!” he muttered. “Done for! Left to roast!”
It was a terrible position. He could hear the crackling of the flames as they gained headway, and the smoke came pouring into the room so thickly that it threatened to strangle him. He coughed and choked and hurled himself again and again against the doors, till he was weak and battered and hopeless.
“Somebody must see this fire,” he muttered; “but they will get here too late to save me! The jig is up!”
He was in despair.
Then came a sound at one of the doors! Then it was flung open, and a coughing, strangling girl staggered into the room.
“Daisy Blaney!” he shouted, joyously.
“Come!” she gasped. “Hurry! If you don’t, we’ll not get out of here! The old building will be all afire in five minutes!”