“The telephone unfortunately is in the east wing,” said the hostess; “so is the telephone-book. Both are being devoured by the flames at this moment. It makes one feel dreadfully isolated. Now if the fire had only broken out in the west wing instead, we could have used the telephone and had the fire-engines here by now.”

“On the other hand,” objected Lucien, “Canon Clore and Major Boventry and myself would probably have met with the fate that has overtaken the telephone-book. I think I prefer the present arrangement.”

“The butler and most of the other servants are in the dining-room, trying to save the Raeburns and the alleged Van Dyke,” continued Mrs. Gramplain, “and in that little room on the first landing, cut off from us by the cruel flames, is my poor darling Eva⁠—Eva of the golden hair. Will none of you save her?”

“Who is Eva of the golden hair?” asked Lucien.