THE WHODUNIT COLLECTION: British Murder Mysteries (15 Novels in One Volume). Charles Norris Williamson

had rushed from the Petit Savoy the previous evening.

      The doctor stood up. "I will not disturb him now," he said. "He seems fairly comfortable. I will send you some different medicine presently with directions. Remember he is not to be moved on any aggount or I will nod answer for his life. And now for my other patient."

      She put down the lamp. Cincinnati raised his head and sniffed gently, suspiciously. "There is no other patient, doctor," she said. "The gentleman you saw last night is gone."

      "Gone." The doctor's voice held unmistakable evidence of disappointment. "He is gone? Where is he gone?"

      She shook her head. "I don't know. I am only a lodger here. Perhaps Mrs. Buttle the landlady could tell you."

      A vivid bolt of flame leapt with appalling suddenness up the stairway, illumining the whole place in a blaze of light, and a hoarse cry came from Cincinnati. He pushed the door open and flung himself in on them.

      "Petrol!" he cried. "The murdering devils! For God's sake get out of this."

      The girl shrank back before the pallet as though to protect the man lying there. Her eyes were fixed in a kind of fascinated terror on the "con "man's face. It was not the fire that terrified her so much as his appearance there. When last they met he had been in association with the police.

      "Go away," she shrieked. "You shan't touch him."

      "They have set the place ablaze," he repeated. "We are trapped."

      The doctor was the only one who seemed unmoved either by the fire or by the "con "man's dramatic appearance. "Don't be a mad fool, Cincinnati," he said quite quietly. "Here, stand aside and let's have a look."

      He pushed Cincinnati away and glanced through the open doorway. The smell of burning petrol was wafted upwards and the first burst of flame had given way to clouds of dense smoke through which he could dimly perceive many coloured flames devouring the woodwork of the stairs. The incendiaries had done their work well. The whole bottom floor had been set alight as if by magic and the dry, rotten flooring was blazing like tinder. Although it had only been a matter of a few seconds since Cincinnati Red had raised the first alarm it was already plainly impossible to reach the street by the stairs.

      The doctor closed the door quickly and stepped back, removing his spectacles as he did so. "The gov'ner will be annoyed about this," he commented. "It's a good move. They'll have a fine chance to get away in the confusion."

      The terror in Peggy Greye-Stratton's eyes deepened.

      "You are not the doctor!" she cried. "Are you detectives?"

      "I am a police officer," admitted the frock-coated man. "My name's Congreve. My friend here is not. But don't you worry, miss. We're not going to hurt you. Here, you, Cincinnati. Come along into the front room. We'll have to get down through the window. Someone in the street will surely have had the gumption to get a ladder. Now don't you go getting frightened, miss. We'll have you out of this in two shakes."

      The "con "man and he passed into the front room. Peggy sank into a chair and buried her face in her arms. Realisation of the peril she was in from the fire was sunk in the more insistent dread for her brother which the unexpected advent of Cincinnati Red and the calm confession of identity made by the disguised detective had aroused. Their presence had only one meaning for her.

      The sick man raised himself on one elbow. "Peggy," he whispered. "Peggy." His eyes were shining with an unnatural light, but his voice was quite normal.

      "Yes? "she said.

      "It's all up, old girl; I've been awake for the last five minutes. That was a detective, wasn't it. And the house is afire. Well, I'll take my medicine. I've been a rotter and it's up to me now to do the first decent thing by you I've ever done. You get along. I'll look after myself."

      She laid a hand soothingly on his shoulder and held herself under stern control. "You've been dreaming, boy," she said with a smile. "Lay down. Everything's all right."

      He resisted the soft pressure and pointed to the wreaths of smoke now curling lazily under the door. "That isn't much of a dream, Peggy. Better go. I know what I've got to do and you'll only be in the way."

      Congreve poked his head into the room. "Now then, miss, here's a ladder. You first and then we'll see to your brother."

      She held back. "I'll not go," she declared. "I'll not let you arrest him."

      "We'll see about that after we've got you both out," said Congreve gently. "Now come along like a good lass and don't argue."

      "No."

      It was mere madness, but she was past logical reasoning. Even the genial Congreve almost lost his temper. He started forward, but before he could reach her Errol had risen from the bed. His face was grey and drawn with pain, and those unnaturally bright eyes shone fiercely out of their sunken pits.

      "Do as the man tells you," he said, and added an oath. Excitement seemed to have lent him strength. With a quick movement he lifted her bodily and staggered with her towards Congreve. "Take her," he said curtly.

      In her brother's hands she had been almost passive but as she passed to the detective she struggled like a wild thing. It was all that he, who was a man of no mean physical strength, could do to hold her. He had to call Cincinnati Red to his aid before he could get her across the outside room to the window.

      "Steady, miss," he said soothingly. "You don't want to be burnt alive, do you?"

      She paid no heed. All her efforts were concentrated on the one purpose to free herself and stand between her brother and the danger of arrest. She saw nothing except that all she had done and suffered during the last few days had been for nothing.

      A low cry went up from the crowd that had already assembled outside the burning house as they appeared at the window. The fire engines were dashing up. The two men placed her down for an instant and she made one final effort to break away.

      "Of all the silly women," muttered Cincinnati irritably.

      The window was open and a head now appeared at it. Peggy felt herself abruptly swung off her feet again and almost before she was aware of it she was in the street and half a dozen men were moving her swiftly away. Cincinnati had followed her down the ladder and he gave a great breath of relief as he found himself once more in the open air.

      Congreve had returned to the door of the inner room, which had swung to. He tried to push it open with his foot, but to his surprise it resisted the pressure. "Now then, Errol," he shouted. "Come on. It's your turn. Open the door. It's caught."

      The voice that replied was muffled, but it had a note of determination. "It's not caught. Look after yourself, Mr. Policeman. I'm going to take my chance. You don't lay your hooks on me."

      The burly figure of Menzies squirmed its way through the window and a. couple of helmeted firemen followed. "Hullo, Congreve," he said casually. "Here's a fine old mess. What's wrong?"

      His subordinate jerked a thumb towards the door. "Errol in there," he said shortly. "Door locked. He won't come out."

      The chief inspector raised his boot and smashed with the heel against the panels. A mocking laugh came from the interior. "Don't do that again," said Errol. "I've an eight-shot automatic here. Don't you run away with the delusion that you're going to take me."

      "The deuce you have, laddie," muttered Menzies. "Here," he wheeled on one of the firemen, "lend me your axe. Pass the word to your people to send up a length of hose. Congreve, you get out of this."

      He struck with the axe at one of the panels, and as the wood smashed and splintered the thudding report of an automatic answered and an irregular hole showed a few inches from where he had hit. He moved quickly back out of the line of fire.

      "He means business, sir," said Congreve, who, for once, had disobeyed an order. "You'll never be able to make a hole to turn the hose on him. We can't save him if he won't be saved."

      Menzies made a helpless