"It was about the middle of the second act when I noticed the blaze on the upper left-hand corner of the stage. Those on the stage seemed to be in semi-panic. The people didn't know what to do. Then there seemed to be somebody giving directions for them to put down the curtains after a burning piece of scenery or something fell on the stage. A man came out and gave instructions for them to pull down the curtain and after that we went out the door, downstairs and came to a door on the left hand side in the foyer, facing the street, and in the inner vestibule. There was a man there. He was not in uniform. He was trying to open the door, which was locked. There was a pair--two doors--and one of them was open and a great crowd was going out. This man was trying to unlock the other door and he could not do it. I broke the glass, and that wouldn't do either, so I kicked the whole door out and we escaped." DIDN'T BOTHER ABOUT LOCKED DOORS. That the foyer doors, which the van of the fleeing audience found closed, were locked during the performance was the statement of Harry Weisselbach of Chicago. He was at the ticket office in the outer vestibule off Randolph street, some time before the fire and saw two men in an argument regarding the doors. They were coming out of the theater. "That's a mean trick, to lock the doors so people can't get out," said one of the men. "They have locked the doors again," he continued, looking back at the door man. "I wonder if there is a policeman around here." The man's companion replied that he wasn't going to bother about the matter and the two left the theater. Weisselbach went around to the Northwestern University school and was there only a short time when the fire in the theater started. His story of the fire from that viewpoint was similar to that told by Witness Fred H. Rea. CHAPTER XXII. DANCED IN PRESENCE OF DEATH. Heroes and heroines--every one of them--the members of the octette told the coroner how they sang and danced to reassure the vast audience of women and children while death lowered overhead and swept through the scene loft, a chariot of flame. Modestly they revealed the part they played in the catastrophe while billows of flame, death's red banners, menaced their lives. Madeline Dupont, 145 Franklin avenue, New York: