"A fine effort, young man. A splendid effort, by Gad 1 But you shouldn't have tried it."
"Tell the band to strike up a tune," said the Saint shortly. "Did anybody find a ladder?"
With his strength rapidly coming back, he still fought against admitting defeat. His face was hard and set and the blue in his eyes was icy as he glanced over the group.
"A ladder wouldn't be much use now," said a quiet voice. "The flames are pouring out of his window. There isn't a hope."
It was the square-jawed man who spoke; and again it seemed to Simon that there was a faint sneer in his dark eyes.
The Saint's gaze turned back to the house; and as if to confirm what the other had said there came from the blaze a tremendous rumbling rending sound. Slowly, with massive deliberation, the roof began to bend inwards, sagging in the middle. Faster and faster it sagged; and then, with a shattering grinding roar like an avalanche, it crumpled up and vanished. A great shower of golden sparks shot upwards and fell in a brilliant rain over the lawns and garden.
"You see?" said the square man. "You did everything you could. But it's lucky you turned back when you did. If you had reached his room, the chances are that you'd never have got back."
Simon's eyes slanted slowly back to the heavy-set powerful face.
It was true that there was nothing more that he could do. But now, for the first time since the beginning of those last mad minutes, he could stop to think. And his mind went back to the chaotic questions that had swept through it for one vertiginous instant back there in the searing stench of the fire.
"But I did reach his room," he answered deliberately. "Only I couldn't get in. The door was locked. And the key wasn't in it."