“Dynamite,” said Elk promptly. “It blew down.” He pointed to the hole in the floor. “Nitro-glycerine blows up and sideways,” he sniffed. “There’s no doubt about it being dynamite.”
In his search of the office he found a twisted coil of thin steel, later the blackened and crumpled face of a cheap alarm dock.
“Both time and contact,” he said. “Those Frogs are taking no chances.”
He shifted such of his belongings as he could discover into Balder’s office.
There was little chance that this outrage would be kept from the newspapers. The explosion had blown out the window and a portion of the brickwork and had attracted a crowd on the Embankment outside. Indeed, when Elk left headquarters, he was confronted by newspaper bills telling of the event.
His first call was at the near-by hospital, to where the unfortunate Fayre had been taken, and the news he received was encouraging. The doctors thought that, with any kind of luck, they would not only save the man’s life, but also save him from any serious mutilation.
“He may lose a finger or two, and he’s had a most amazing escape,” said the house surgeon. “I can’t understand why he wasn’t blown to pieces.”
“What I can’t understand,” said Elk emphatically, “is why I wasn’t blown to pieces.”
The surgeon nodded.
“These high explosives play curious tricks,” said the surgeon. “I understand that the force of the explosion blew off the door of the safe, and yet this paper, which must also have been within range, is scarcely singed.”