Mavis covered her face with her hands, and the tears trickled down her face.
“My dear, don’t take it to heart,” went on Alan kindly. “If anything happens to Murdoch, he will have given his life for his friends.”
Then a muffled cry came from within the little chamber. Quickly Alan touched the lever, the folds of metal rolled back, and two figures fell forward on their faces.
“Water,” commanded Alan, and Mavis rushed to get some.
“Have you any brandy left?” asked Sir John.
“A very little.”
“Bring some too,” he cried as Mavis disappeared into the kitchen. Tenderly they wiped blood and sweat from the faces of the unconscious men.
Masters opened his eyes. “Out there,” said he hoarsely. “Terrible smell—sulphuric—can’t breathe properly—whirling clouds—eyes smart—don’t go again.”
“He’ll do,” said Sir John. “How’s Murdoch?”
“He’s so terribly cold,” said Mavis.