“Hurt, Mr Murray, sir?”
“No! Where’s the black?”
Crash!
A fierce burst as of thunder, and the just-closed door was dashed in, while the hall and staircase were filled with light.
Chapter Fifty Two.
What the Powder did.
The horrible dank odour of exploded gunpowder; a blinding smoke; thick darkness; a strange singing in the ears, and then, in connection with a sensation as of having been struck down and stunned, an awful silence.
These were Murray’s impressions as he slowly struggled to his feet. Then as his scattered senses began to return he cried hoarsely—