I stopped at the head of the stairs. The flames drove Greco off, but
he tried again. They drove him off again, and this time for good.
He stumbled toward me. "Out! It's hopeless!" He turned, stared blindly
at the hotel employees with their chain of buckets. "You! What do you
think you're doing? That's--" He stopped, wetting his lips. "That's a
gasoline fire," he lied, "and there's dynamite in my luggage. Clear
the hotel, you hear me?"
It was, as I say, a lie. But it got the hotel cleared out.