PEGGY-IN-THE-RAIN
and, finally, a door at the end of the hallway, locked. He beat on the panel and shouted.
"Is there any one in there? The house is afire!"
There was no response. Gordon held his handkerchief to his face and again tried the door. It resisted firmly and he turned away. But halfway, to the stairs he stopped. Surely it had been in that room that the hand had pulled down the shade! The cook? She would never have stayed to lock the door and remove the key! And no one else had descended the stairs! Unless both he and the youth with the cigarette had been victims of optical illusion, that room was still occupied! From below came the sound of breaking glass, the tramp of feet and hoarse commands. From without came the steady throb of the engines. The light in the bracket burned red through the murk. Gordon ran back to the door, raised a foot and sent it crashing against the lock. The door gave and he stumbled into the room. A small table went over as he tried to save himself by it and an ink bottle hurtled across the floor, leaving a trail of black on the shabby carpet. He closed the door behind him and leaned
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