"Meanwhile that crazy man, Donovan, is in the house here trying to rescue
some one of them German plotters that showed his face at the window."
The recipients of this piece of news gasped. "He'll never come out,"
exclaimed one of the men. "Still, he never did seem to care much for
his life."
White faced and tense they watched the conflagration. Certainly not one
of the men ever expected to see Donovan again. Yet what could they do? As
Sergeant Riley had said, it was folly for any one else to follow him in,
and so they were powerless. All they could do was watch and hope.
Suddenly a figure appeared at the door. It seemed to issue straight
from the hottest part of the fire. On its shoulder was the limp
figure of a man.
"There he is!" cried six voices together, and together the six watchers
made for the house.
Donovan, for it was he, stood on the charred steps. Sparks and blazing
firebrands fell all around him and he tottered uncertainly. Willing
helpers rushed to his assistance, but before they could reach him he
swayed and fell.
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