"It's all right," I yelped. "It's only two fire trucks!"
"Thank God!" Stoddard gasped.
We were a block from his place now, with only one corner left to turn before we'd see the mad architectural monstrosity he called him home; before we'd see the crazy belfry which held the salvation of the world in its screwballish, queer-angled lines.
And then the fire trucks and the sirens were nearer and louder, less than a block behind us. At that instant we turned the corner and came into full view of the Stoddard place.
It was a mass of flames, utterly, roaringly ablaze!
It was tragedy! The house was in flames; the rats would escape....
I almost drove us off the street and into a tree. And by the time I'd gotten a grip on myself, we were just a few houses away from the blazing inferno of Stoddard's crazy quilt dwelling.