“Well, I guess I’ll see for ‘my own eyes,’ too,” muttered Gilbert, and also put on a burst of speed, which speedily took him past the man who had given him the information. By the time the second square was passed, the young lieutenant saw the prison building quite plainly, and saw that it was blazing fiercely at one end and in the front. A strong wind was blowing; and, unless this shifted, it was easy to see that the entire structure would be doomed. The thick black smoke was curling from every window; and the very street was so full that the fire brigade could do little or nothing. “Have they got the prisoners out?” asked Gilbert of one of the firemen. “Got some of ’em out,” was the answer. “We couldn’t get at the others: the smoke was too thick.” “Where are the prisoners?” “Under guard, in the compound in the rear.” Without the loss of a moment, Gilbert ran around to the compound. At least sixty prisoners were there, some of the wounded lying upon the ground and improvised couches. He looked them all over, but saw nothing of Nuggy Polk. “I am looking for a man who was in Ward 8,” he said to one of the prison guards. “His name was Nuglich Polk, and he was an American.” “We couldn’t get anybody out of Ward 8,” was the answer, after a glance at Gilbert’s uniform. “That ward is up there, and the smoke kept us out.” The young lieutenant made out the corner of the building to which the guard alluded. An outside stairway led to that section of the structure, a stairway which but a moment before had been surrounded by smoke. But now came a puff of wind, and the smoke was sent flying in the opposite direction. “Give me a key--I am going to look for that man!” cried Gilbert. “It’s a shame to let anybody die like a rat in a trap.” “That’s so, lieutenant. But the danger--” “I’ll risk it. Give me the key.” “I’ll go with you,” returned the guard. “I see the wind is shifting.” “Then come!” And away went Gilbert for the stairs. Some few who saw the action cheered, but others shook their heads. “It’s foolhardy,” said the head-keeper. “If the wind drives back, he’ll be lost, sure. Grimes, better stay here.” “I said I’ll go, and I will,” answered Grimes, the assistant. He had been in charge of Ward 8, and felt he must do what he could for the unfortunates who were locked up. It took Gilbert but a few seconds to reach the second floor of the prison. The door at the top of the outside staircase was open, and he plunged into the corridor beyond. Here the smoke was still thick, and he had to pause to locate his surroundings. “To the left!” shouted Grimes. “The prisoners are in the last two rooms. Better bend down--the smoke won’t affect you so much.” To find his way through the narrow corridor was no easy matter, and Gilbert was soon suffering for the want of pure air. He, however, gained the first of the two rooms mentioned in safety; and on his heels came Grimes.