With a peremptory gesture, Ford waved her toward the room adjoining and then ran to the window. The girl was leaning forward with her face close to the door. She held the finger of one hand to her lips. With the other hand she beckoned. Ford ran to her side. “Some one is moving in the hall,” she whispered. “Perhaps they are escaping by the roof? No,” she corrected herself. “They seem to be running down the stairs again. Now they are coming back. Do you hear?” she asked. “It sounds like some one running up and down the stairs. What can it mean?” From the direction of the staircase Ford heard a curious creaking sound as of many light footsteps. He gave a cry of relief. “The police!” he shouted jubilantly. “They've entered through the roof, and they're going to attack in the rear. You're SAFE!” he cried. He sprang away from the door and, with two swinging blows, smashed the broad panel. And then, with a cry, he staggered backward. Full in his face, through the break he had made, swept a hot wave of burning cinders. Through the broken panel he saw the hall choked with smoke, the steps of the staircase and the stair-rails wrapped in flame. “The house is on fire!” he cried. “They've taken to the roof and set fire to the stairs behind them!” With the full strength of his arms and shoulders he struck and smashed the iron bar against the door. But the bolts held, and through each fresh opening he made in the panels the burning cinders, drawn by the draft from the windows, swept into the room. From the street a mighty yell of consternation told them the fire had been discovered. Miss Dale ran to the window, and the yell turned to a great cry of warning. The air was rent with frantic voices. “Jump!” cried some. “Go back!” entreated others. The fire chief ran into the street directly below her and shouted at her through his hands. “Wait for the life-net!” he commanded. “Wait for the ladders!” “Ladders!” panted Ford. “Before they can get their engines through that mob----”