Now he had it; now it was jammed tight under
his left arm; now he was out again on the landing, in smoke more
deadly than ever.
He said to himself: 'If I cannot instantly break out by the trap-
door it's all over with me.' That the exit would open to a
vigorous thrust he knew, having amused himself not long ago by
going on to the roof. He touched the ladder, sprang upwards, and
felt the trap above him. But he could not push it back. 'I'm a
dead man,' flashed across his mind, 'and all for the sake of "Mr
Bailey, Grocer."' A frenzied effort, the last of which his
muscles were capable, and the door yielded. His head was now
through the aperture, and though the smoke swept up about him,
that gasp of cold air gave him strength to throw himself on the
flat portion of the roof that he had reached.
So for a minute or two he lay. Then he was able to stand, to
survey his position, and to walk along by the parapet. He looked
down upon the surging and shouting crowd in Clipstone Street, but
could see it only at intervals, owing to the smoke that rolled
from the front windows below him.
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