She stared down into the dark chasms on either side and then her head fell sideways on Tanya's shoulder.
"She has fainted," muttered Rowland.
"We must get her down there in some way," said Tanya bravely.
"Stay where you are. I will see."
And putting the suit-case beside him he sat and went carefully down to the roof of the dormer window, where he lodged the suit-case again and then slid down. There was a broad ledge here and he crouched, peering around into the window of the room beneath. It was dark inside but the window was open. There was no time to spare, so, weapon in hand, he entered without ceremony. His matches were wet and he had no means of making a light, but he felt around with his hands and found a door, which he opened cautiously. There was a dim light in the hall and by its light he made out the objects within the shabby room, a trunk, two beds, a bureau and wash-stand. One of the two beds had been occupied and the disorder of the room indicated that it had been suddenly deserted.
Rowland scratched his head in a moment of uncertainty, and then closed the door and locked it.
"Sorry, old top," he muttered, "but our need is greater than yours."
As he emerged the flames from the burning building had burst through the roof and the figures of Tanya and Madame Rochal by the chimney were deeply etched in silhouette against the glow of the heavens. The downpour had ceased and only a slight drizzle remained of the storm which had been so friendly to them. Even now, if anyone chose to look upward they could see. And so he crouched and crawled up again.
"It's got to be managed some way," he muttered to Tanya. "Come."
But she shook her head.