“We’ll take that Paddington one first,” said Elk, pointing to the largest of the bags. “And get me that other knife, Balder.”
The two men walked out into the passage, leaving Fayre alone.
“Can you see the end of this, Captain Gordon?” asked Elk.
“The end of the Frogs? Why, yes, I think I can. I could almost say I was sure.”
They had reached the door of the clerk’s office and found Balder holding a murderous looking weapon in his hand.
“Here it is——” he began, and the next instant Dick was flung violently to the floor, with Elk on top of him.
There was the shrill shriek of smashed glass, a pressure of wind, and, through all this violence, the deafening thunder of an explosion.
Elk was first to his feet and flew back to his room. The door hung on its hinges; every pane of glass was gone, and the sashes with them. From his room poured a dense volume of smoke, into which he plunged. He had hardly taken a step before he tripped on the prostrate figure of Fayre, and, stooping, he half-lifted and half-dragged him into the corridor. One glance was sufficient to show that, if the man was not dead, there seemed little hope of his recovery. The fire-bells were ringing throughout the building. A swift rush of feet on the stairs, and the fire squad came pelting down the corridor, dragging their hose behind them.
What fire there was, was soon extinguished, but Elk’s office was a wreck. Even the door of the safe had been blown from its hinges. There was not a single article of furniture left, and a big hole gaped in the floor.
“Save those bags,” said Elk and went back to look after the injured man, and not until he had seen his assistant placed in the ambulance did he return to a contemplation of the ruin which the bomb had made.