With furious speed he dashed up the noisome stairs.
As he did so there arose a soft flapping sound at the door on the landing, and a lazy serpent of white flame crawled across the landing and climbed up the stairs.
A sweetheart of one of the maid-servants, leaving the Manor House by the side door at half-past nine, saw fire issuing from the window on the first floor of the tower, ran back to the servants' hall, and gave the alarm.
By that time the fire raged madly, rioting on the parched woodwork of the staircase and the dry joists and planks of the floors. The staircase was a cavern of white flame. In front of the glare rushed a fierce column of black suffocating smoke. Twice already had a man tried to force his way down, and twice had he been driven back before the scalding vapour. Now he crouched on the roof in the corner furthest from the tank.
By ten a small crowd had assembled and he could hear men at work. The roof was getting hot; now and then the opening from the staircase panted forth a cloud of sparks.
"If they see me they will try to save me. They will come here, find out all, and save me—for the gallows. Better the fire."
He crouched closer and held his breath lest they should hear him breathe. He had no memory of how he came to that roof. He must have rushed there in one of those unconscious moments.
At half-past ten red tongues began to issue from the opening in the roof.
By a quarter to eleven the weight of the tank told on the sapped roof. That portion showed signs of subsidence.