together, tied it up in its own sleeves, took a deliberate aim--and the
bundle was for the present in safety.

Now for the gymnastic endeavour. Standing on tiptoe, he clutched the
rim of the chimney-pot, and strove to raise himself. The hold was firm
enough, but his arms were far too puny to perform such work, even
when death would be the penalty of failure. Too long he had lived on
insufficient food and sat over the debilitating desk. He swung this way
and that, trying to throw one of his knees as high as the top of the
brickwork, but there was no chance of his succeeding. Dropping on to the
slates, he sat there in perturbation.

He must cry for help. In front it was scarcely possible to stand by the
parapet, owing to the black clouds of smoke, now mingled with sparks;
perchance he might attract the notice of some person either in the yards
behind or at the back windows of other houses. The night was so obscure
that he could not hope to be seen; voice alone must be depended upon,
and there was no certainty that it would be heard far enough. Though he
stood in his shirt-sleeves in a bitter wind no sense of cold affected
him; his face was beaded with perspiration drawn forth by his futile
struggle to climb. He let himself slide down the rear slope, and,
holding by the end of the chimney brickwork, looked into the yards. At
the same instant a face appeared to him--that of a man who was trying to
obtain a glimpse of this roof from that of the next house by thrusting
out his head beyond the block of chimneys.

'Hollo!' cried the stranger. 'What are you doing there?'

'Trying to escape, of course. Help me to get on to your roof.'

'By God! I expected to see the fire coming through already. Are you
the--as upset his lamp an' fired the bloomin' 'ouse?'

'Not I! He's lying drunk on the stairs; dead by this time.'

'By God! I wouldn't have helped you if you'd been him. How are you
coming round? Blest if I see! You'll break your bloomin' neck if you try
this corner. You'll have to come over the chimneys; wait till I get a
ladder.'

'And a rope,' shouted Biffen.

The man disappeared for five minutes. To Biffen it seemed half an hour;
he felt, or imagined he felt, the slates getting hot beneath him, and
the smoke was again catching his breath. But at length there was a shout
from the top of the chimney-stack. The rescuer had seated himself on one
of the pots, and was about to lower on Biffen's side a ladder which had
en