Thanks to them, not a life was lost, although there were several narrow escapes. Once when the guests had a.s.sembled and a count was taken to see that no one was missing, some one exclaimed: "Well, where's Mrs. Newcome?

Has any one seen her?"

Then there was a rush and a scurrying for the second floor, but the guests were met on the stairs by Joe Warren and Tom Harris, carrying the little old lady in their arms. They had knocked at her door and had received no response, and so, hurling themselves at the flimsy door, had burst it in, and found her on the floor in a dead faint.

"Perhaps this will kind of square accounts with the poor old lady," said Joe Warren, as they laid her gently down at a safe distance from the fire. "She used to complain that we made more noise than a band of wild Indians, and were always disturbing her afternoon naps, but I guess she won't complain of our disturbing this nap." Then the boys left her in the care of the guests, and hurried back to the fire.

The fire had gained rapid headway, and there was no hope of saving the new part of the hotel, at least. The old-fashioned town fire-engine came rattling up in charge of Captain Sam, but, though the guests and villagers and the boys all took turns at the pumps, the machine could do little more than throw a feeble stream up as high as the base of the second-story windows. The water-supply of the hotel, which was pumped by a windmill at a distance, was of more avail, but it was helpless against the headway that the flames had gained.

Soon the whole front end of the hotel collapsed, sending up a fierce cloud of smoke, ashes, and sparks.

"Lucky we're not in there now," exclaimed one of the guests. "By the way, has anybody stopped to think that we should all probably have been burned to death if it hadn't been for these boys that we've been complaining of all summer? Guess we'll owe them a vote of thanks, at least, when this is over."

"We can't be too thankful that everybody's saved," said another.

"That all may be," growled Colonel Witham, "but I can't see so much to be thankful for in watching a twenty-five thousand dollar hotel burn to pieces, and I've got the lease of it-" But his sentence was interrupted by a piercing wail that came from the scene of the fire, and, following the sound of the noise, one and all looked up in time to see a large, handsome tiger cat leap from a window from which smoke was pouring to a narrow ledge which was as yet untouched by the flames. There it crouched, crying with fear.

"Oh, it's poor Jerry! It's my poor Jerry!" cried a thin, piping voice, and old Mrs. Newcome, roused from her faint, came forward, trembling and waving her hands helplessly. "Oh, can't somebody save him?" she cried.

"He knows more than lots of these boys. Why don't somebody do something?"

"Can't erzactly see as anybody's goin' ter risk his life for a fool cat,"

muttered one of the villagers. "There ain't no ladder'll reach up there.

Guess Jerry's a goner, and lucky it ain't a baby."

Waving her hands wildly and moaning, Jerry's old mistress was a pathetic sight, as Henry Burns went up and spoke to her.

"I'm afraid I can't do much," he said, "but I'll try. You just wait here, and don't take on so. I know some things about climbing around this hotel that the others don't." And he gave a quiet smile. Then he suddenly darted across to the old hotel, and, before any one could stop him, disappeared up the stairs. Wholly unmindful of the fact that a human being was risking his life for that of a dumb animal, old Mrs. Newcome took fresh hope and screamed shrilly, in words intended to encourage the terrified Jerry.

All at once the crowd of guests and villagers saw a boy's slight figure at the edge of the hotel roof in relief against the sky.

"Who's that?" they screamed. "I thought every one was safely out," cried one to another.

"It's that Burns boy, and he's going to save Jerry," piped old Mrs.

Newcome. "He's-"

A howl of indignation drowned her voice, and a chorus of voices rose up to Henry Burns, demanding that he return.

But, helpless now to prevent, they saw him coolly divest himself of his coat, seize hold of a lightning-rod, and go hand over hand quickly to the top. Then he stood for a moment on the only remaining wall of the hotel, for the rest of the roof, though not yet aflame, had caved in and broken partly away from the end wall.

Along this narrow strip of wall crept Henry Burns; but when he had come to the end of it there was a sheer drop of ten feet down to the ledge where the cat crouched, wailing and lashing its tail.

"Go back! Go back!" screamed those below. "You can't do anything."

But Henry Burns, paying not the least attention, reached one hand into his pocket, drew from it a piece of rope, which he proceeded to lower till it dangled within reach of the unfortunate Jerry.

"Grab it, Jerry! Grab it!" piped old Mrs. Newcome; and, whether in answer to the familiar voice or from an appreciation of the situation, Jerry fastened his claws into the rope, clawed at it furiously till all four feet were fast, and so, miaowing shrilly, was drawn up to safety by Henry Burns.

Back along the wall he crawled, and, sliding down the lightning-rod, was once more on the roof of the old hotel. Then, with Mrs. Newcome's cat perched on his shoulder, he shortly reappeared below, amid the cheering of the crowd.

"I'll never say you boys are bad again and ought to be horsewhipped,"

sobbed old Mrs. Newcome, as she fondled her pet.

But she got no farther, for a moment later the end wall, on which Henry Burns had stood shortly before, was seen to sway violently. Then, with a wrenching and tearing, as of beams split apart, and with grinding of timbers, it collapsed upon the roof of the old hotel, and a few minutes later that, too, was all ablaze, and there was nought to be done by any one but to stand helplessly and see the flames devour everything.

When morning lighted up the spot where on the previous day the hotel had stood, the pride of the village and the boast of Colonel Witham, the sun shone only on a charred and blackened heap of ruins.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE FLIGHT

Southport, rudely awakened from sleep as it had been, and awake all the rest of the night by so unusual and stirring an event as a fire, was too much excited to go back to its slumbers, but stayed awake through the morning hours to discuss it. A group of villagers hung around the grocery-store all day long, adjourning only now and then to journey to the spot where the hotel had been, where they stood solemnly contemplating the ruins, with all-absorbing interest in the twisted and distorted fragments that still bore some resemblance to whatever part they had const.i.tuted in the structure of the building.

There were dozens of theories advanced as to how the fire had started.

The oil had exploded from spontaneous combustion; rats had set the blaze by gnawing at matches, and so on through the list of ordinary causes of fires; but as for Colonel Witham, with his customary suspicion of all human nature, he was sure of one theory, because it was his own, and that was, that the hotel had been set on fire. This he doggedly a.s.serted and as stubbornly maintained. The hotel could not have set itself afire; therefore, some one must have done it. This was as plain as daylight to the colonel.

He fiercely questioned John Carr as to whether any lights had been left burning, but John Carr was loud and persistent in his a.s.surances that the hotel had been as dark as Egypt when he had retired for the night.

But throughout all the discussion, that ranged through cottages, along the streets, and that spread throughout the length and breadth of the island, there were six boys who were silent, who took no part in it, but who kept away from wherever a group was gathered.

They were a serious-looking lot of boys as they a.s.sembled on the sh.o.r.e in front of the tent; so much of anxiety and apprehension showing unconcealed in their faces that one happening upon their council might have read therein a key to the mystery. It would have been a mistaken clue, of course, but it would have sufficed for the village and for Colonel Witham.

For a few moments not one of them spoke, though each boyish brain was turning the one awful subject over and over, vainly seeking the answer for a problem that defied all attempts at solution.

Finally Bob broke the awful silence.

"How could it have happened?" he exclaimed. At which there was a universal whistle and a shaking of heads.

"You see," continued Bob, "it's absolutely necessary for us to decide in our own minds, the first thing, whether it was our fault or not. Because, if it was, I suppose we've got to own up to it sometime or other, and we may as well do it first as last."

"Better now, if at all, than later," said Tom. "They might have some mercy on us now, being grateful that they didn't burn up."

"All but Colonel Witham," said young Joe. "Catch him being grateful for anything, with his hotel in ashes."

"Keep quiet, Joe!" exclaimed George Warren, sharply.

The very mention of Colonel Witham's name was irritating. It was only too certain that no mercy could be expected from the colonel.

"But," said Arthur Warren, "we're not to blame, so why should we consider that at all? You remember," he continued, turning to Henry Burns, "how we waited after I had blown the last lamp out and the room was absolutely dark, and we had to stand still a moment till our eyes got accustomed to the darkness before we could find our way to the window?"

"I remember that," answered Henry Burns; "and not one of us lighted any matches all the time we were there, because the lamps were all burning dimly when we went in; but," he added, somewhat desperately for him, "that is not going to save us the moment an investigation begins, if they have one. The first time they begin to question one of us we're done for.

The moment they know we were in there last night, that will settle everything in their minds."

"And what then?" asked young Joe.

"Well," said Henry Burns, more calmly, "it means that we've got a twenty-five thousand dollar hotel to pay for."