Bob rushed into the house and telephoned the fire department. Then, with Mrs. Lewis and Joe’s sister, he moved back outside, to see that the structure was blazing even higher.
Meanwhile the others had unlocked the doors and were inside, doing their best to roll out the cars. But the smoke was so thick that they were making little headway.
“Quick!” cried Mr. Holton. “Where are the keys, Ben?”
“I don’t know. I—I can’t seem to find them. Should be in my pocket. No, guess I left them in the house.”
The next instant he was gone, leaving his friends to survey the situation more carefully.
“It strikes me,” remarked Bob thoughtfully, “that if we wait for him to return with the keys it will be too late.”
“But what—how——” Mr. Holton stammered, but was interrupted by his son.
“The only way that I can see is to break the glass in one of the doors. Then we can get inside to release the emergency brake. How about it?”
“I’d hate to do that, my boy. Yet there seems to be no other way out.”
As Bob had stated, it was evident that if they were to wait for the keys the cars would be badly burned. There was a possibility that the gasoline tanks might even explode, for at intervals particles of ignited timber fell from the blazing roof and missed them only a few inches. Rapidly the flames crept downward. Already they were halfway down the wall and moving like lightning. There was no time to lose. Something must be done!