Polly was on his mind, along with the reasons why she would decide to move to Oregon: Her old school chum pressured her into relocating; the opportunities for bird-ing were irresistible; a suburban library needed a librarian with Polly's expertise and made her a good offer; she had reached the restless age and was ready for a new challenge. Although he tried to be understanding, Qwilleran found it difficult to imagine life without Polly. True, he had many friends, and two animal companions, and an enviable place to live, and a column to write for the newspaper, and a host of devoted readers, and money to spend. Yet, Polly filled a long-felt need in his life.
"Enough of this sentimentality!" he said to the Siamese, and he made a meatloaf sandwich. They muddled through the evening, hearing sounds of yet another audition at Five Pips. The atmosphere was calm, and the unceasing thunder seemed to be coming from several directions. Shortly before midnight he gave the cats their bedtime treat and retired, taking care to close the bedroom door. When the weather was threatening, they liked to crowd into his bed. He thought he would have trouble sleeping, but ...
Qwilleran was sound asleep when the disturbance started outside his door—first the yowling, then the urgent scratching on the door panels. He sat up in bed and checked the hour; it was almost two o'clock. Then he smelled smoke. It was not tobacco this time; it was something burning. He checked his own kitchen burners hastily and then stepped outside with a flashlight.
Black smoke was issuing from the cottage next door. Without a second's hesitation he ran to Five Pips and pounded on the door, shouting "June! June! Fire!" The door was locked. He tried to kick it in, but he was wearing only light slippers. He lunged at it, but it held fast. He smashed the front window with his flashlight and then ran up the lane to ring the firebell. He clanged it again and again. Lights appeared instantly in certain windows of the inn, and Nick's voice shouted. "Where is it?" "The last cottage!" "Get out! Get everybody out!"
Qwilleran ran back to pull on some clothes—he was still in pajama bottoms and slippers—and stuff the cats into their carrier. He could hear a motor vehicle in the distance and the emergency beep—beep—beep. As soon as he emerged, lugging the carrier, Nick was running down the lane in full firefighting gear.
"Get everybody to the inn!" he yelled.
Now the motors of heavy vehicles could be heard on the still night air. The family in the first cottage—parents and two children—stood outside, confused and frightened.
"Go to the inn!" Qwilleran shouted. "Keep out of the way! The fire trucks are coming!" Already the police car was rounding the building.
In the lounge, where guests were standing around in nightclothes and robes, the Bamba cats hissed and growled at the sight of the caged Siamese invading their territory.
"Take them upstairs and shut them up in any vacant room," Lori said to Qwilleran. She was moving among the guests and saying, "Everything's under control ... Don't be alarmed ... The fire trucks are on the way ... We've got plenty of water in the lake ... There's no wind tonight, so it won't spread."
From the upstairs window Qwilleran saw the police car floodlighting the burning building. Black smoke billowed from the windows. Then the tanker and pumper arrived, and a line was run down to the lake. Soon his own cottage was being hosed down with torrents of water. An ambulance lumbered onto the scene, and a stretcher was rushed to the end of the lane. When another firefighter came running, helmet in hand, he recognized Harriet Beadle; she went to work as a backup on the hose.
The Siamese, sensing the tension of the emergency, were solemnly quiet when he released them from the carrier and left them alone.
Downstairs Lori said, "I'm fixing coffee for the firefighters. Does anyone want to help make sandwiches?" "I can do that," Qwilleran offered. While she cut lunchmeat and separated cheese slices, he spread mayonnaise on bread. "I saw her being loaded into the ambulance," he said gruffly.
"We were afraid she'd get us into trouble," Lori said in a quiet voice. "She was so self-willed."
"Today she was walking around the yard with a lighted cigarette and an ashtray, and she told me she was observing house rules. I assumed she had reformed, but she had company tonight, and they may have been careless."
Lori looked out the window. "I don't see flames. They must have contained the fire. Thank God there's no wind. You won't be able to use your cottage, Qwill. We'll make up a suite, and you can spend the rest of the week upstairs . . . Listen! I hear the chopper. They're taking her to the mainland."
