The place had sunk back into its wonted quiet. The blended murmur of the unceasing city, which during the party had been shut out and forgotten, now penetrated the walls of the great building and closed in once more upon these lives. The noises of the street were heard again.
Outside, below them, there was the sudden roar of a fire truck, the rapid clanging of its bell. It turned the corner into Park Avenue and the powerful sound of its motors faded away like distant thunder. Mrs. Jack went to the window and looked out. Other trucks now converged upon the corner from different directions until four more had passed from sight.
“I wonder where the fire can be,” she remarked with detached curiosity. Another truck roared down the side street and thundered into Park. “It must be quite a big one—six engines have driven past. It must be somewhere in this neighbourhood.”
Amy Carleton sat up and blinked her eyes, and for a moment all of them were absorbed in idle speculation about where the fire might be. But presently they began to look again at Mr. Logan. At long last his labours seemed to be almost over. He began to close the big valises and adjust the straps.
Just then Lily Mandell turned her head towards the hall, sniffed sharply, and suddenly said:
“Does anyone smell smoke?”
“Hah? What?” said Mrs. Jack. And then, going into the hall, she cried excitedly: “But yes! There is quite a strong smell of smoke out here! I think it would be just as well if we got out of the building until we find out what’s wrong.” Her face was now burning with excitement. “I suppose we’d better,” she said. “Everybody come on!” Then: “0 Mr. Logan!”—she raised her voice, and now for the first time he lifted his round and heavy face with an expression of inquiring innocence—“I say—I think perhaps we’d all better get out, Mr. Logan, until we find out where the fire is! Are you ready?”
“Yes, of course,” said Mr. Logan cheerfully. “But fire?”—in a puzzled tone. “What fire? Is there a fire?”
“I think the building is on fire,” said Mr. Jack smoothly, but with an edge of heavy irony, “so perhaps we’d better all get out—that is, unless you prefer to stay.”
“Oh no,” said Mr. Logan brightly, getting clumsily to his feet. “I’m quite ready, thank you, except for changing my clothes—”
“I think that had better wait,” said Mr. Jack.
“Oh, the girls!” cried Mrs. Jack suddenly, and, snapping the ring on and off her finger, she trotted briskly towards the dining-room, “Nora—Janie—May! Girls! We’re all going downstairs—there’s a fire somewhere in the building. You’ll have to come with us till we find out where it is.”
“Fire, Mrs. Jack?” said Nora stupidly, staring at her mistress.
Mrs. Jack saw at a glance her dull eye and her flushed face, and thought: “She’s been at it again! I might have known it!” Then aloud, impatiently:
“Yes, Nora, fire. Get the girls together and tell them they’ll have to come along with us. And—oh!—Cook!” she cried quickly. “Where is Cookie? Go get her, someone. Tell her she’ll have to come, too!”
The news obviously upset the girls. They looked helplessly at one another and began to move aimlessly round, as if no longer certain what to do.
“Shall we take our things, Mrs. Jack?” said Nora, looking at her dully. “Will we have time to pack?”
“Of course not, Nora!” exclaimed Mrs. Jack, out of all patience. “We’re not moving out! We’re simply going downstairs till we can learn where the fire is and how bad it is!...And Nora, please get Cook and bring her with you! You know how rattled and confused she gets!”
“Yes’m,” said Nora, staring at her helplessly. “An’ will that be all mum?---I mean”—and gulped—“will we be needin’ anything?”
“For heaven’s sake, Nora—_no!_…Nothing except your coats. Tell the girls and Cook to wear their coats.”
“Yes’m,” said Nora dumbly, and after a moment, looking fuddled and confused, she went uncertainly through the dining-room to the kitchen.
Mr. Jack meanwhile, had gone out into the hall and was ringing the elevator bell. There, after a short interval, his family, guests, and servants joined him. Quietly he took stock of them:
Esther’s face was flaming with suppressed excitement, but her sister, Edith, who had hardly opened her mouth all evening and had been so inconspicuous that no one had noticed her, was her usual pale, calm self. Good girl, Edith! His daughter, Alma, he observed with satisfaction, was also taking this little adventure in her stride. She looked cool, beautiful, a bit bored by it all. The guests, of course, were taking it as a lark—and why not?—_they_ had nothing to lose. All except that young Gentile fool—George What’s-his-name. Look at him now—all screwed up and tense, pacing back and forth and darting his feverish glances in all directions. You’d think it was his property that was going up in smoke!