“I had no idea fire could move that quickly,” Belinda gasped, brushing a strand of hair from a sooty face as she reached us. “One minute we were fine and the next that horrid little German house went up, poof. Darling, I had to leave my favorite face cream behind, and do you know how much it cost in Paris?”

“Better than being cooked to a crisp or having your face so badly burned that you’d never need it again,” I said.

“You do have a point there, I suppose.” She wiped a smear of soot from her face again, but she was still looking longingly in the direction of the cottage.

“Cor swipe me, miss,” Queenie said. “I thought I was a goner that time.”

“Why didn’t you come up before?” I asked, feeling moved that duty had kept her to her post until instructed otherwise.

“Well, Claudette was in such a state about packing your mum’s things that she wouldn’t get out. So I thought I’d better help her or she’d find herself trapped. I almost had to drag her out of there in the end, and then she tripped over a fallen branch and I had to go back for her again. Bloody Froggies.” She made a face. “It never struck me about packing up your things until it was too late. Sorry, but then your mum’s clothes are better than yours, aren’t they? And I thought she’d make a right old fuss if I didn’t save them for her.”

The gardeners had now hooked up hoses and were making feeble attempts to prevent the wall of flame from reaching the house. But there were only two hoses and they were not long enough to cross the broad forecourt to the nearest of the trees. Antelopes burst from the forest and dashed past, only to be repelled by the flames behind the house. Smaller animals—a fox, squirrels, jackrabbits—joined them. Mummy’s description of the place being a bloody zoo was now suddenly apt.

We could feel the heat now and the crackle of flames had become a roar. Smoke stung at my eyes so that I could hardly see.

“Maybe we should go back into the house,” Craig suggested.

“The fire trucks must get here soon.” Ronnie was staring down into the flames, almost willing himself to see fire trucks breaking through. “I don’t know if we’re any safer inside.”

“Isn’t the house made of stone?” Craig asked. “That can’t burn, surely?”

“The stonework is only a façade.” Ronnie’s face was grim. “The whole framework underneath is timber.”

“What are we going to do?” Algie demanded. “Somebody go for help. We’ll be burned alive.”

“We may be okay when it reaches the gravel and burns itself out,” the sheriff said, not sounding too confident about this. “Isn’t there a better outlet for those damned hoses?”