Instantly his dormant energies awoke to liveliest activity. He raced back to a corner of the Close, where he had passed a policeman. The man had wandered farther on his beat. He overtook him, gasping.
"My house is afire!"
The policeman recognized Quinney, and nodded owlishly.
"Your house afire?" he repeated.
"You bolt for the engine—see?"
He twirled round the massive figure, and pushed it vigorously. The guardian of the night broke into a slow trot. Quinney shouted:
"Get a move on!" and sped back to the cottage. The light was no longer faintly luminous. Flames—hungry tongues of destruction—were licking the darkness.
CHAPTER IX
SALVAGE
I