But the inspector was mistaken, for those criminals were not destined
to fall into the hands of justice. As we rolled into Eyford Station we
saw a gigantic column of smoke which streamed up from behind a small
clump of trees in the neighbourhood and hung like an immense ostrich
feather over the landscape.
A house on fire? asked Bradstreet as the train steamed off again on
its way.
Yes, sir! said the station-master.
When did it break out?
I hear that it was during the night, sir, but it has got worse, and
the whole place is in a blaze.
Whose house is it?
Dr. Becher s.
Tell me, broke in the engineer, is Dr. Becher a German, very thin,
with a long, sharp nose?
The station-master laughed heartily. No, sir, Dr. Becher is an
Englishman, and there isn t a man in the parish who has a better-lined
waistcoat. But he has a gentleman staying with him, a patient, as I
understand, who is a foreigner, and he looks as if a little good
Berkshire beef would do him no harm.
The station-master had not finished his speech before we were all
hastening in the direction of the fire. The road topped a low hill, and
there was a great widespread whitewashed building in front of us,
spouting fire at every chink and window, while in the garden in front
three fire-engines were vainly striving to keep the flames under.
That s it! cried Hatherley, in intense excitement. There is the
gravel-drive, and there are the rose-bushes where I lay. That second
window is the one that I jumped from.
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