Stanley had seen Allan coming across the tracks, and anxious to have the interview over and get his prisoner away before any hint of his identity should get about, had brought him out, surrounded by three or four officers. The crowd had melted away considerably, and what there was left of it was either watching the last embers of the fire, or inspecting the ruined freight-house. So the little group came out into the yards unnoticed, and stopped in the shadow of the building until Allan and his two friends came up.
Allan, stopping close to Hummel, saw that he was handcuffed, and therefore incapable of doing any one harm. He seemed bent and shrunken and only half-conscious, as though on the verge of collapse.
“Well, Hummel,” he said, “you wanted to see me?”
Hummel lifted his eyes and stared at him coldly, for an instant, as though not recognizing him; then his eyes brightened with rage.
“Yes,” he said, thickly, “I wanted t’ see you. I hope you’re satisfied with this night’s work.”
“Why, yes,” said Allan with a smile. “Don’t you think I have reason to be? Have you anything to tell me?”
“Yes,” said Hummel, his face growing more livid still, as he glared at the other. “It’s this—I’ll be in hell to-night an’ so will you!”
And he suddenly raised his handcuffed hands.
Allan was dimly conscious of a heavy form hurling itself past him, of a close grapple, of an instant’s pause broken only by oaths and hoarse shouting; he seemed to see Reddy Magraw grappling with the anarchist; then the world was blotted out in a white flash of flame.