The windows of the Museum were vividly illuminated by a red glow. Smoke poured out of one which apparently was broken, and across the smoke shot tongues of flame. He bounded to his telephone, and with great presence of mind rang up the fire-station at Blitton. “Riseholme,” he called. “House on fire: send engine at once.” He ran into his garden again, and seeing a light still in the drawing-room next door (Daisy was getting some sulphurous expressions from Abfou) tapped at the pane. “The Museum’s burning,” he cried, and set off across the Green to the scene of the fire. By this time others had seen it too, and were coming out of their houses, looking like little black ants on a red table-cloth. The fire had evidently caught strong hold, and now a piece of the roof fell in, and the flames roared upward. In the building itself there was no apparatus for extinguishing fire, nor, if there had been, could any one have reached it. A hose was fetched from the Ambermere Arms, but that was not long enough, and there was nothing to be done except wait for the arrival of the fire-engine from Blitton. Luckily the Museum stood well apart from other houses, and there seemed little danger of the fire spreading. Soon the bell of the approaching engine was heard, but already it was clear that nothing could be saved. The rest of the roof crashed in, a wall tottered and fell. The longer hose was adjusted, and the stream of water directed through the windows, now here, now there, where the fire was fiercest, and clouds of steam mingled with the smoke. But all efforts to save anything were absolutely vain: all that could be done, as the fire burned itself out, was to quench the glowing embers of the conflagration.... As he watched, three words suddenly repeated themselves in Georgie’s mind. “Fire, water, moonlight,” he said aloud in an awed tone.... Victorious Vittoria! The Committee, of course, met next morning, and Robert as financial adviser was specially asked to attend. Georgie arrived at Mrs. Boucher’s house where the meeting was held before Daisy and Robert got there, and Mrs. Boucher could hardly greet him, so excited was she. “I call it most remarkable,” she said. “Dog and angry old woman never convinced me, but this is beyond anything. Fire, water, moonlight! It’s prophecy, nothing less than prophecy. I shall believe anything Vittoria says, for the future. As for Abfou--well----” She tactfully broke off at Daisy’s and Robert’s entrance. “Good morning,” she said. “And good morning, Mr. Robert. This is a disaster, indeed. All Mr. Georgie’s sketches, and the walking-sticks, and the mittens and the spit. Nothing left at all.” Robert seemed amazingly cheerful. “I don’t see it as such a disaster,” he said. “Lucky I had those insurances executed. We get two thousand pounds from the Company, of which five hundred goes to Colonel Boucher for his barn--I mean the Museum.”