“Is everyone out of that building?” demanded the policeman on the beat, rushing up.  He had just learned that a citizen had gone to ring in the fire alarm, so now the policeman’s next thought was directed toward life saving.

There was a quick count of those who had been in the offices on the upper floors.

On the fourth floor one suite of offices had been occupied as a china painting school.  Miss Trent, the teacher, who had reached the sidewalk safely, now looked about her anxiously.

“I had only one pupil up there, Miss Grace Dodge,” replied Miss Trent, hurriedly.  “I called to her and then ran.  Miss Dodge started after me, then rushed back to get her purse, palette and color case.”

“Has anyone seen Miss Dodge?” demanded the policeman.

No one had.

“Then I’ll get up there, if I can,” muttered the officer.

Dropping belt and club to the sidewalk, and pulling his helmet down tight on his head, the policeman darted into the building and up the stairs.

At that moment, above the smoke and flames pouring out of the third story windows, Grace Dodge appeared at one of the windows on the fourth floor.  She was hatless, and a streak of blood appeared over her left temple.

“Don’t jump!” shouted several men loudly.  “A policeman has just started up to get you.”

Miss Dodge appeared somewhat dazed; it was a question whether she understood.  But her face disappeared from the window way.  To many of the horrified ones below, it appeared as though the imperiled girl had swayed dizzily away from the window, as though overcome by the heat and fumes from the windows below her.

“Where is the fire department?  Is it never coming?” wailed one woman in the throng, wringing her hands.

No one here knew that the citizen who had rushed to send in the alarm had found the first box out of order.  He was now rushing to another alarm box.

Out of the hallway came the policeman, white-faced and tottering weakly.

“I—–­I couldn’t get up much above the second floor,” he gasped, in a voice out of which the strength was gone.  “I—–­I guess the—–­heat and smoke got me!  But—–­some one—–­must try!”

Where was that fire department?

Dick, staring over the crowd, found that all of his chums had arrived.

“Come on, fellows!” he yelled.  “We’ve got to do something.  Follow me!”

Prescott, after one swift glance at the buildings, made a dash for the door of the one just to the right of the blazing pile.  Into the stairway entrance he dashed, followed by Dave Darrin, by Tom Reade, Greg Holmes, Dan Dalzell and Harry Hazelton.

“Hurrah!” yelled some one, in infectious enthusiasm.  “Dick & Co. to the rescue!”

CHAPTER XX

IN THE LINE OF DARING

That became instantly the cry: