Someone might hear. He must hurry.

He lit a pool of paraffine on the scullery floor, and instantly a

nest of snaky, wavering blue flame became agog for prey. He went up

the stairs three steps at a time with one eager blue flicker in

pursuit of him. He seized the lamp at the top. "Now!" he said and

flung it smashing. The chimney broke, but the glass receiver stood the

shock and rolled to the bottom, a potential bomb. Old Rumbold would

hear that and wonder what it was!... He'd know soon enough!

Then Mr. Polly stood hesitating, razor in hand, and then sat down. He

was trembling violently, but quite unafraid.

He drew the blade lightly under one ear. "Lord!" but it stung like a

nettle!

Then he perceived a little blue thread of flame running up his leg. It

arrested his attention, and for a moment he sat, razor in hand,

staring at it. It must be paraffine on his trousers that had caught

fire on the stairs. Of course his legs were wet with paraffine! He

smacked the flicker with his hand to put it out, and felt his leg burn

as he did so. But his trousers still charred and glowed. It seemed to

him necessary that he must put this out before he cut his throat. He

put down the razor beside him to smack with both hands very eagerly.

And as he did so a thin tall red flame came up through the hole in the

stairs he had made and stood still, quite still as it seemed, and

227

The History of Mr Polly