“The smoke is coming downward,” cried Barclay. “The fire must be upstairs,” and darting across the broad hall he made for the front door, on which blows resounded, and tore it open. In raced firemen, axes and chemical apparatus in hand.
“Fire’s on the second floor,” shouted the foremost fireman. “Get everyone out on the sidewalk,” catching sight of the frightened women streaming into the hall.
“Don’t stop for your wraps,” warned Patterson, grasping Mrs. Ogden and Ethel, and hurrying them out of doors. McLane, one hand on Lois, and the other steering little Madame Takasaki, was at their heels. Professor Norcross followed with the bishop’s wife, while the bishop, no show of haste in his calm demeanor, assisted the ambassador’s wife and two other guests to pilot their way down the front steps. Takasaki, seeing his wife and the other women were safely in the street, turned back and stood with Walter Ogden in the hall.
Outside the house ladders had been placed and a stream of water turned on the windows through which flames were bursting.
“Oh! Oh!” Mrs. Ogden clutched Ethel. “I do believe the fire’s in the den.”
“Go back, Ethel,” Patterson commanded. “The fire is
spreading and you may be injured.”
“The den!” Ethel studied the position of the flaming windows, and in the glare recognized the outlines of familiar furniture inside the burning room. With a smothered exclamation she started toward the front door, but at the bottom step Professor Norcross laid a detaining hand on her scarf, which floated loose as she continued upward. James Patterson caught up to her in the hall.
“Go back, Ethel,” he commanded. “The fire is spreading and you may be injured.”
“I won’t,” she panted. “Let go, Jim. There is something I must get out of the top drawer of my typewriting desk; it stands by the door leading into Walter Ogden’s bedroom. The fire is in the other part of the room—I can reach my desk.”