She nodded breathlessly, swept off her feet by his excitement. He vanished, before she could answer him or remind him of a bedridden mother-in-law. Maria also was asleep. Quinney hauled her out of bed, and pointed to the attic window. "Look at that," he said grimly, "and scoot!" Maria scooted. Quinney leapt downstairs, cursing himself for a fool inasmuch as he had neglected to increase his insurance. The "gems" had slowly accumulated month after month. He breathed more easily when he reached the ground floor, but he was well aware that the old house would burn like tinder. The roof of thatch had begun to blaze; he could hear the crackle of the flames overhead. With profound regret it must be set down that he had quite forgotten Mrs. Biddlecombe. He worked methodically, beginning with the uninsured porcelain, the Worcester, Chelsea, and Bow, which he carried tenderly into the garden. He had removed the most valuable specimens before the engine arrived. Maria, stout creature, half-dressed, bare-legged and bare-footed, joined him. Together they hauled out the Chippendale chairs and china cupboard. "Seen your missus?" asked Quinney, when she first appeared. "On the lawn," replied Maria. Presently they heard the welcome rattle of the engine, and the Chief strode in, followed by two firemen. "Women all out?" he asked. "You bet!" replied Quinney. At that moment he remembered Mrs. Biddlecombe. "My God!" he exclaimed, gripping the Chief. "There’s Mrs. Biddlecombe! Bedridden, by Gum!" Maria burst into the riotous laughter of a Bacchante. "The old lady," she spluttered, "was the first to scoot. She just ran out like I did." "Ran?" repeated Quinney. "Like a rabbit!" said Maria, more calmly. "We’ve about five more minutes," remarked the Chief. During that brief period wonders were accomplished; but at the very last Quinney narrowly escaped death in his determination to save a print in colour which he had overlooked. A fireman grabbed him and held him as the roof fell. *II* Kindly neighbours sheltered the women for that night, while Quinney mounted guard over his furniture and porcelain. He never left his precious things till they were safely stored in a warehouse. When his fellow-townsmen condoled with him he laughed in their solemn faces. The sense of freedom which had so expanded his spirit upon the never-to-be-forgotten occasion of his sire’s funeral once more possessed him. The fire had burnt to cinders the resolution to remain in Melchester. He found himself wishing that the shop had burned too. What a glorious clearance that would have been, to be sure! Nevertheless, the sight of Susan’s face dampened his rejoicings. Obviously, she had swooped upon the truth. Mrs. Biddlecombe had been forgotten, left to frizzle, while a madman, at the risk of his life, was rescuing sticks and stones!