The fire-bell was not rung, the gate was not thrown open; for as we ran out of the office and down the stairs it was to step into a pool of naphtha, and in a few instants we found that a quantity had been poured in at the lower windows—to what extent we could not tell—but it was evident that this had been done all along the basement by the scoundrels on the raft, and that they had contrived that some should reach one of the furnaces, with the result that in an instant the furnace-house had leaped into a mass of roaring flame, which the brisk gale was fanning and making the fire run along the naphtha-soaked buildings like a wave.
“Stop, stop!” roared Uncle Jack; “we can do nothing to stay this. Back to the offices and secure all books and papers.”
So swiftly was the fire borne along by the gale that we had hardly time to reach the staircase before it came running along, licking up the naphtha, of which a large quantity had been spilled, and as it caught there were dozens of little explosions.
I do not think either of us gave a thought to how we were to get away again, for the valuable books and plans had to be saved at all hazards; so following Uncle Jack we rushed into the big office, the safe was opened, and as rapidly as possible a couple of tin boxes were filled with account-books, and a number of papers were bound round with string.
“You must look sharp,” said Uncle Bob.
“But we must take my books, and odds and ends, and fishing-tackle,” I cried.
“Better try and save our lives,” said Uncle Bob. “Are you ready?”
“No; there are some plans we must take,” said Uncle Dick.
“You must leave them,” shouted Uncle Bob. “There, you are too late!” he cried, banging to the door at the end of the workshop; “the flame’s coming up the stairs.”
“We can get out of the windows,” said Uncle Jack coolly.