“I smell smoke,” I said.
“So do I,” he agreed. “This place is afire.”
“And we locked in!” I exclaimed.
“Locked in?” he sneered. “Bosh. I broke open the front door the instant
I was sure they were dead. Come! Drop that empty bag. This is no time
for haggling.”
We had to step between the two corpses. Rivvin was horridly dead. The
colors had all faded from the snout. The muzzle was all mouse-color.
When we had hold of the bag of coin, Thwaite turned off the electric
lights and we struggled out with that and the bag of jewels, and went
out into the hallway full of smoke.
“We can carry only these,” Thwaite warned me. “We’ll have to leave the
rest.”
I shouldered the bag of coin, and followed him down the steps, across
a gravel road, and, oh the relief of treading turf and feeling the fog
all about me.
At the wall Thwaite turned and looked back.
“No chance to try for those other bags,” he said.
In fact the red glow was visible at that distance and was fast becoming
a glare.