But before he had done, a long arm gathered Ricky up as if she had been a child. "Right," came the firm answer. "Sam, take Miss 'Chanda back. Then—"
Val was watching the reflection of the flash on the broken roof above him. Sand slid in tiny streams down the wall, mingling with the greenish trickles of water. There were queer blue and green arcs painted on the brick which had something to do with the hot pain behind his eyes. The blue turned to orange—to scarlet—
"Careful! Right here in the hall, Holmes—"
The broken earth above him had somehow been changed to a high ceiling, the chill darkness to blazing light and warmth.
"Ricky?" he asked.
"Here, Val." Her face was very close to his.
"You—are—all—right?"
"'Course!" But she was crying. "Don't try to talk, Val. You must be quiet."
He heard someone moving toward them but he kept his eyes on Ricky's face. "We did it!"
"Yes," she answered slowly, "we did it."