Jill remained where she was, leaning with one hand against the
switchboard. She made no attempt to follow the directions he had
given her. She was aware of a sense of comradeship, of being with
this man in this adventure. If he stayed, she must stay. To go now
through the safety of the stage-door would be abominable desertion.
She listened, and found that she could hear plainly in spite of the
noise. The smoke was worse than ever, and hurt her eyes, so that the
figures of the theatre-firemen, hurrying to and fro, seemed like
Brocken specters. She slipped a corner of her cloak across her mouth,
and was able to breathe more easily.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I assure you that there is absolutely no
danger. I am a stranger to you, so there is no reason why you should
take my word, but fortunately I can give you solid proof. If there
were any danger, _I_ wouldn't be here. All that has happened is that
the warmth of your reception of the play has set a piece of scenery
alight. . . ."

A crimson-faced stage-hand, carrying an axe in blackened hands,
roared in Jill's ear.

"Gerroutofit!"

Jill looked at him, puzzled.

"'Op it!" shouted the stage-hand. He cast his axe down with a
clatter. "Can't you see the place is afire?"

"But--but I'm waiting for . . ." Jill pointed to where her ally was