Susan’s set face relaxed as she saw Martin running towards her.
“Where’s Gollop? Where’s my man?” she cried.
“He’s quite safe; he’ll be here soon,” Martin replied. “Have you got everything out?”
“Everything but the copper. We couldn’t lift that. Come back, Mounseer; we’ve got your things too.”
The Frenchman had withdrawn his arm from Martin’s and was hurrying into the open doorway of the house. He paid no attention to Susan’s cry, but disappeared.
“Well I declare!’ cried Susan. “Did you ever know such a foolish old gentleman! Because he’s French, I suppose. Me and the blackamoor brought out all his bits of things with our own hands: here they are. But I suppose he wants to make sure we’ve got ’em all.”
“I’ll go and bring him back,” said Martin.
“No, no; bide here. He’ll see the room’s empty and come back himself in a twink. There’s no call for you to go into the smother.”
Martin allowed himself to be restrained. A knot of spectators had gathered, and stared up at the burning house. The flames were spreading from the roof downwards. Smoke was pouring out of the windows. Susan watched grimly; Lucy, her eyes wide with awe, clung convulsively to Gundra, who seemed the least concerned of all.
Minute after minute passed. There was no sign of the Frenchman. The window of his room was closed, but smoke was trickling out at the edges of the casement.