I counted the seconds while he was, as I conjectured, getting his breath again.

In less than half a minute there came another shout: "Let us in, or we'll burn the place down over your head!" Burn it?
Burn what?
There was nothing easily combustible but the thatch on the roof; and that had been well soaked by the heavy rain which had now fallen incessantly for more than six hours.

Burn the place over my head?
How?
While I was still casting about wildly in my mind to discover what possible danger there could be of fire, one of the heavy stones placed on the thatch to keep it from being torn up by high winds came thundering down the chimney.

It scattered the live embers on the hearth all over the room.

A richly-furnished place, with knickknacks and fine muslin about it, would have been set on fire immediately.