g of
the brain, a terror of hideous death. His manuscript was on the table,
where he had left it after regarding and handling it with joyful
self-congratulation; though it was pitch dark in the room, he could at
once lay his hand on the heap of paper. Now he had it; now it was jammed
tight under his left arm; now he was out again on the landing, in smoke
more deadly than ever.

He said to himself: 'If I cannot instantly break out by the trap-door
it's all over with me.' That the exit would open to a vigorous thrust
he knew, having amused himself not long ago by going on to the roof. He
touched the ladder, sprang upwards, and felt the trap above him. But he
could not push it back. 'I'm a dead man,' flashed across his mind, 'and
all for the sake of "Mr Bailey, Grocer."' A frenzied effort, the last of
which his muscles were capable, and the door yielded. His head was now
through the aperture, and though the smoke swept up about him, that gasp
of cold air gave him strength to throw himself on the flat portion of
the roof that he had reached.

So for a minute or two he lay. Then he was able to stand, to survey
his position, and to walk along by the parapet. He looked down upon the
surging and shouting crowd in Clipstone Street, but could see it only at
intervals, owing to the smoke that rolled from the front windows below
him.

What he had now to do he understood perfectly. This roof was divided
from those on either hand by a stack of chimneys; to get round the end
of these stacks was impossible, or at all events too dangerous a feat
unless it were the last resource, but by climbing to the apex of the
slates he would be able to reach the chimney-pots, to drag himself up
to them, and somehow to tumble over on to the safer side. To this
undertaking he forthwith addressed himself. Without difficulty he
reached the ridge; standing on it he found that only by stretching his
arm to the utmost could he grip the top of a chimney-pot. Had he the
strength necessary to raise himself by such a hold? And suppose the pot
broke?

His life was still in danger; the increasing volumes of smoke warned him
that in a few minutes the uppermost storey might be in flames. He
took off his overcoat to allow himself more freedom of action; the
manuscript, now an encumbrance, must precede him over the chimney-stack,
and there was only one way of effecting that. With care he stowed
the papers into the pockets of the coat; then he rolled the garment