“Where on earth am I? What has happened?” he thought dully, as his eyes took in the unfamiliar and squalid surroundings.
“Oh, how my head hurts!” was his next thought. “What can be the matter? I must have——”
Just then recollection rushed back with the force of the incoming tide. The boy recalled how he had followed Jake Rook up the stairs of the tenement house, how he had crossed the roof, and finally, how he had heard Ralph’s cry for help. At that point recollection stopped.
He sat up, feeling sick and giddy. An almost overwhelming nausea was upon him, too. But he overmastered the feeling and rose unsteadily to his feet.
“What a filthy room!” he mused, looking about him by the light of the smoky lamp. “I’d give a good deal to know how I got in here. By the feeling of my head I must have fallen, or been dealt a blow or something. And where’s Tom? He went for the police and—hullo! what’s that? Smells like something burning.”
The acrid smell of the flaming lower floors of the tenement had, in fact, penetrated Jack’s nostrils, although, of course, he didn’t dream for an instant that he was in a fire trap of the worst kind. But suddenly, as he sat there trying to collect his wits, he became aware of shouts and cries and the clanging of bells and shrieking of whistles.
“There must be a fire somewhere,” he thought, recognizing the clangor of the bells and the screaming sirens of the fire engines; “maybe that’s what delayed Tom. If there’s a fire close by there must be a lot of police there. Anyhow, I’ve got to get out of this.”
He arose dizzily and crossed to the door. As he flung it open a great cloud of suffocating smoke struck him full in the face, almost depriving him of breath.
Jack reeled back, slamming the door. A thrill of horror was in his veins. His heart beat thickly, but his blood was icy cold.
“The fire’s here! In this house!” he gasped, “and if I don’t get out pretty quick I’ll be roasted alive!”