“I hope nothing has happened to your wife,” said Mrs. J. anxiously.  “Or her mother,” added Jones rather cynically.

The man at the door was certainly a policeman, and an elderly one, and had probably been recalled from pension when the War broke out.

“Good evening, Sir,” he said, staring hard at me.  “Are you Mr. Brown”—­I nodded—­“of Myrtle Villa, next door”—­he eyed me suspiciously—­“No. 17?”

“Yes, yes,” I said impatiently; “what of it?”

“I must ask you for your name and address, Sir,” pulling out his note-book, “for showing a strong light at the back of the ’ouse at 8 P.M.”

“That’s all nonsense,” I answered impatiently; “the house is empty.”

“Excuse me, Sir, I saw it myself from the road at the back and came straight round,” said he with his notebook ready.

“But it can’t be,” I said, getting annoyed.

At this moment a Special came running down the path.  “They’re coming,” he panted.

“Who are?” I asked.  “No one’s been invited but myself.”

“The engines.”

“But I haven’t ordered any,” said I.

“I gave the alarm myself,” he added proudly.

Jones’s rather unintelligent maid had been standing by my side the whole time.  “Excuse me, Sir,” she said, “I don’t know, but I think there’s something wrong with your ’ouse—­the little room at the back, where you sit and smoke of an evenin’.  There’s been a big light there for some time—­a wobbly one.  I don’t know, Sir, but I think the ’ouse is a-fire.”

“What?” I yelled, and dashed aside the two varieties of constabulary.  Yes, it was all true.  The strong light at the back of the house—­a wobbly one—­was rapidly becoming a glow in the heavens, as they say in journalese.  I stood and looked at it, staggered for the moment, when I heard a cheer and saw the engines coming.  I dashed for my front-door, but found myself forcibly dragged back.  It was the Special, who seemed to be having the time of his life.

“No one allowed to enter a burning building,” said he importantly.

“But I must,” I cried; “there are some valuable papers——­”

“No one allowed to enter,” he repeated firmly—­he seemed to have learned it by heart—­“except the firemen and police.”

“Well, you go in and get them then.  I’ll——­”

“Pass along, please,” he said quite suddenly, as a new phase of his duties seemed to occur to him, and I found myself edged back towards the crowd.

Now I had to have those papers, and an idea occurred to me, so I stopped.  “I say, how about your dinner?  You’ll miss it altogether.  I don’t want to keep you.  Perhaps if you hurry off at once——­”

“Dinner,” he cried indignantly, gripping me fiercely by the arm—­“what is dinner compared with duty?  Do you know, man, I’ve been doing this bally Special business for over two years and never had a case yet, and now that I’ve got a real fire—­and this is my own fire, mind you, my very own——­”