In fact it now became a question of self-preservation.
The old building was like a tinder-box.
The Bradys seemed to be literally penned in by the fire and smoke.
There was no time to lose.
“No use, Harry!” cried Old King Brady. “We are beaten for just now. We must get out of here.”
The detectives reached the stairs. But escape in this direction was cut off. Flames were in their faces.
At the other end of the corridor was a window opening upon the street. The detectives made a rush for this.
They reached it just as the sash was carried away by a stream of water from the firemen’s hose. This gave the detectives a chance.
Drawing a deep breath of fresh air they felt returning strength.
Harry vaulted lightly over the sill. It was fifteen feet to the area below. The firemen shouted, but Harry dropped to the flagging.