Then things happened as De Rothan had counted on their happening. Jeremy, Stott, Steyning, and young Parsloe stormed into the house, Jeremy carrying a lantern that one of the men had brought lit from the orchard. They made no tarrying in the hall, but rushed for the stairs, Jeremy carrying visions of Jasper tied up in a burning room.
Half way up the stairs a figure came blundering down on them. It was Anthony Durrell, half dressed, and bewildered.
Jeremy held his hand.
"George, sir—I had nearly fired into you. Which is Benham's room? Do you know?"
Durrell was inarticulate.
"Mr. Winter, sir! I—I have not——"
Jeremy swore, thrust him aside, and rushed on, the rest following, leaving Durrell flattened against the wall.
The smell of the fire guided them, the pungent scent of burning wood. The stairs leading to the attic story were narrow and tortuous like the stairs in an old tower. Jeremy was the first to get a glimpse of the yellow light streaming under an attic door. The crackle of burning wood could be heard. Little puffs of smoke were drifting into the passage.
Jeremy rushed to the door of the burning room and found it locked. He charged at it with his shoulder, but it did not budge.
"Jack Jenner—at this door, man. Jasper, lad—Jasper——"