"Yes, the man who came here wounded. Where is he?"
She shook her head and lied ponderously.
"I don't know no—"
"Stop your lying. Where is he? There's part of the bandage that was on him." Grant pointed to a pile of rags in the corner. "Now come through. We haven't any time to waste."
But the maid shook her head in dogged silence. In an effort to frighten her out of it, the Captain and Grant settled down to a cross-examination, calling patience to their aid and overcoming the exasperation which only defeated their purpose. It was growing late. Suddenly Grant raised his head questioningly and glanced at the Captain. At the same time a gleam of satisfaction crossed the face of Minna, the maid.
A man had run past the shack shouting. Sounds of confusion drifted in to the dingy shack, and then Grant sniffed the air with a look of alarm and looked at the Captain. His anxiety was reflected there. A glance down the crooked street confirmed their worst suspicions. The town was on fire!
As soon as their knock had come on the door of the fortune telling house, Minna had done a little guerilla work and ascertained that the visitors were none she wished to see. Her assumed slowness and stubborness had given Dollings ample time to escape through the back door of the house where he had taken refuge the night before and down littered alleys despite the handicap of painful wounds. His failure of the night before had left him with a strong determination to make good at the job to which he had been assigned. In his pocket reposed a tiny book of numbered instructions. Instruction Four was marked. It was the one he was to carry out, according to Von Lertz's order:
"Remember that a north wind will blow a fire toward the guncotton plant and that Hopewell is a town of shacks. If necessary fire the town!"
All day a brisk breeze had been blowing from the north. All things were auspicious now as night had fallen and he crept along piles of lumber and hid in the shadows.
From a nearby shack a lighted lamp shed its glow through an uncurtained window. Dollings sneaked close to the house. The room was empty. In a corner of the plot a clothespile rested against the side of the house. He grasped the unwieldy piece and in a moment more had thrust the pole through the window and knocked the lighted lamp to the floor. A light of triumph glinted in his evil eyes as, not daring to wait to see the result of his handiwork, he hobbled hurriedly away. He heard a scream and looking back saw a black cloud of smoke, billowing out of the window. In a few moments the thin walls of the shack had burst into bright flame and the hastily formed bucket brigade of Hopewell was laboring in vain to check the rapid progress of the fire. The tent next door caught fire, the wind blew the cinders about and they fell on other shacks and the devouring terror spread rapidly to the southward, fanned by the brisk wind—southward to the guncotton factory.