“Fire,” he announced in level tones. “The flames are coming up the elevator well, Johnnie.” “So much for your fireproof building,” replied Mr. York, seizing his hat and stick and gloves from the desk. “Which way out, please?” “I don’t know,” was the reply. “We’re cut off from the stairs and the elevators aren’t running. Couldn’t use them if they were, I guess.” “But the fire escape, man! Where’s that?” “We’ll try it, but it looks bad, Johnnie. I wonder--Put your head out, Craig, and see if there’s any sign of excitement below. No? Then it hasn’t been seen.” Mr. Hall strode to the telephone and yanked the receiver off. “Fire department,” he said. “Emergency!” There was a moment’s wait. Mr. York opened the door again and once more the clouds of smoke seethed into the room, whirling and eddying as they met the air from the windows. He looked up and down the corridor, returned, closing the door again, and shook his head as his gaze met that of the man at the telephone. “Hurry up, John,” he said quietly. “It doesn’t look pretty to me.” “Hello! Hello! Fire department? The Adams Building’s on fire. What? I’m John Hall. Yes. I’m in my office on the tenth floor. Everything looks to be pretty hot underneath. We’re going to try to make the fire escape. Good-bye.” Mr. Hall dropped the receiver back to the hook, looked about the office, took a step toward his safe, shrugged his shoulders, and moved toward the door. “Come on, Johnnie,” he said quietly. “We’ll have to make a run for it. Craig, keep close to us. If we can’t make it we’ll have to come back here and wait for ladders. All ready? Slip out and I’ll shut this door again. Wait! How about handkerchiefs over our faces?” “Right!” agreed Mr. York. “Got one, Sam? That’s the ticket! Now then, hold your breath and keep together. Which way, John?” “To the right, past the stairway. Come on!”