There could be no measure of uncertainty as to the power the fire had acquired already. Smoke and flame were pouring and leaping out of the windows and through the old red tiles into the dull December sky. A stern joy held Northcote as he gazed. Every instant of delay increased his chance. It needed a holocaust to ensure his safety. He derived that thrill of impersonal satisfaction which visits a good craftsman when a work is placed before him which has been adequately planned and executed. “The engines ought to have been round from Fenchurch Street afore now,” said one, whose mustache bristled like that of a county councillor. “Fenchurch Street, did yer sye?” said the man without a collar. “Lord love me, they’ll send ’em round from ’Olborn.” “They are taking a lifetime about it,” said the nervous man in a voice of intense anxiety. However, at that moment there sounded a curious rattle of warning; policemen came running up, and immediately afterwards came the first of the engines. The crowd was now dense and the traffic was impeded. In the next few moments it had been stopped altogether and diverted into side streets. By now a large posse of constables had appeared, and they succeeded in clearing a space in which the firemen could carry out their operations. Before the hose had been placed in position two other engines had arrived. Northcote had managed to place himself in an admirable situation among the excited throng; and although those in front of him were somewhat roughly thrust back by the police, he was able to maintain his coign of vantage. By the time the first spray of water had been flung upon the conflagration, it had not only burnt through his room into the story beneath, but also it had spread some twenty yards along the tiles. “If it takes to burning down, it will be awkward,” said a voice near him. “How it is spreading! They will find it difficult to keep it off the hotel.” Northcote, in the midst of the frenzy of destruction that possessed him, now grew conscious that a hand had gripped his arm. He managed to turn his head sideways and discovered that his old schoolfellow, Hutton, was standing next to him. “This crazy old hole has been waiting for this,” said Hutton. “It burns like tinder. If there are any poor devils who keep there, I pity them.” “I’m one,” said Northcote quietly. “Well, I call that really bad luck,” said his old schoolfellow fervently. “Upon my word, it will take the whole place.” “Job’s comforter,” said Northcote. “I say though, it is a blaze! By Jove, it has got into the hotel! It will take half Fleet Street if they don’t look out.” “More engines,” said Northcote with satisfaction, as their hideous rattles pierced the air. “Well, they will all be wanted.”