"Where are we now?" he said, scribbling for dear life, his spectacles turning all ways at once. "I don't like this smoke. Can the beastly place be on fire still?"
But the lift man had caught sight of Janet, and the sight of her was obviously unwelcome.
"The floors ain't safe here," he said confusedly. "There's a deal more damage to be seen in the left wing."
"Is there?" said the young man drily. "We'll go there next"; and he went on peering and scribbling.
A voice in the distance shouted imperiously, "Number Two, where does this smoke come from?"
There was a plodding of heavy, hastening feet above.
In an instant the young man and the lift man had disappeared round the corner.
Janet ran swiftly down the black passage along which they had come, almost brushing against the painter in her haste, without perceiving him. She flew on, recognising by instinct the once familiar way to the central hall on each landing. Here it was at last. She paused a moment by the gaping lift, and then walked slowly to the head of the iron outer staircase.