Happily a cry of "Engines!" at the other end of the court diverted the crowd still further, and enabled him to stagger forward clear of danger.
"Drop him, he's a dead 'un!" shouted some one who stopped a moment to peer into the face of the senseless lad.
"I'll give you a shilling to help me with him out of this," said Jeffreys.
It was a shilling well spent.

Unaided he could never have done it, but with the sturdy gladiator to clear the way he was able at last to reach the comparative seclusion of Storr Alley.

The offer of another shilling prevailed on the man to carry the lad to the attic.
Then for the first time left to himself, he looked in the face of this unexpected guest.

And as he did so the room seemed to swim round him.
He forgot where he was or what he was.

He looked down on an upturned face, but one not blackened with smoke.