The figure in the chair turned towards him. He heard the creak of the bamboo. But it made no movement to rise.
"Confound you! Take your chance then!" said Noel between his teeth.
He came closer. He saw in a momentary glance the face behind the cigarette. Heavy, drugged eyes looked up to his. Then in the dimness he heard a sudden movement, a snarling, devilish laugh.
The next instant he kicked against an obstruction, staggered, fought madly to recover himself, tripped a second time, and with a yell of rage fell headlong.
There came a flash of blinding, intolerable brightness—a roar as of the roar of a cannon, stunning, deafening, devastating,—the smaller sound of wood splintering and falling,—and then a dumb and awful silence more fearful than Death.
* * * * *
The first to arrive on that scene of darkness and destruction was the old moonstone-seller. He seemed to be gifted with eyes of extraordinary keenness, for he made his way unerringly, with the agility of a monkey among the splintered débris. One corner of the mess-house had completely gone, leaving a gaping hole into the ante-room. Dimly the lamps within shone upon the wreckage. The crowd from the ball-room, horror-stricken, fearful, were gathered about the doorway. The atmosphere was thick with dust and smoke.
Light as an acrobat the moonstone-seller stepped among the ruins, then paused to listen.
"Is there anyone here?" he asked aloud. "Noel, are you here?"
There was no answer. The awful, tragic silence closed in upon his words.