Chapter Thirty-OneOrange tongues of flame leapt up the wall, and the dry wood crackled with sudden energy.
‘We’re on fire,’ I said.
‘Excuse me?’ said Mr Verne.
All the others rushed to the window and winced at the stink of burning oil.
‘Capital!’ said Mr Verne. ‘What a brilliant idea!’ He leapt at his chest of drawers and rummaged through it until he found his own pack of matches.
Patrick, Matilda and I stared as he attempted to set the chest of drawers alight.
‘Are you mad?’ I asked. ‘We need to leave at once! I can only hope Dunne believes I’ve been killed.’
Mr Verne laughed. ‘Don’t you see? This is Bentley’s hotel.’
We looked at him blankly.
‘Meeting you changed my outlook, as you know,’ said Mr Verne, still trying to set the furniture on fire. ‘Until this morning, I was a frie
