Stuart knew that the fire must have been kindled directly beneath this room. The old house was a stone-walled structure, but the interior was a mass of wood. Within a few minutes, the place would be a holocaust, and he would be the victim.
The building was in an isolated spot. The flames would only be visible on the side of the hill which Stuart had descended in his car. There, the bridge was down over the river.
Help would be delayed — and the worst thought was that if help did come, it would not start on its way until the flames were first seen. By that time the old building would be a mighty torch, flaming skyward. Stuart felt the heat greatly now. The crackling had become a furious noise. A lighted match showed him that a mass of smoke was coming in through the slender crack beneath the door. He could smell nothing but the smoke now; still, he was astonished at its volume.
Sounds broke loose in the walls. Timbers were giving way. Once the flames came through the floor, there would be an open way — but the route would be through a roaring furnace! He was trapped, with fire beneath, eating its way up the sides. A hopeless position, to be followed by a terrible death. The doomed man leaped savagely upon the bed, breaking it apart, seeking to use the pieces in another futile storming of the door.
Nevertheless, it was the only task that could keep Stuart's mind from the death that lay so close. He not only beat upon the door, he shouted at the top of his lungs, seeking to outdo the roaring crackle of the flames.
At last, as he broke a final bed slat upon the door, Stuart sank exhausted, incapable of effort or outcry. It was then that his fevered mind heard what seemed to be an echo to his pounding. The door reverberated with heavy strokes from the other side. Stuart shouted again and heard an answering word.
"Steady!" came a voice, that seemed choked with smoke. "Back from the door! I've broken the bolts. Here goes the lock."
Stuart heard a muffled revolver shot. Then another report. A third seemed to roar in his ears. It was fired through an opening in the door. The lock was broken. The door swung inward, Stuart crawling away to avoid its path.
The open doorway revealed an amazing scene.
A man was standing in the center of a surging swirl of smoke. All about him was a ruddy glow — the reflection of flames that were consuming the old house. The man was stooped forward, his head muffled by a coat, wringing wet.