“Doesn’t it smell down below?”
“Yes, I did notice it a bit, sir, all along the tables; but nothing like this.”
“Never mind; let’s get out of it. Soon blow away.”
Wilkins set the example, and hurried out and down the step-ladder, which took them outside, and, followed by the bandsmen, he made for the little tent where their supper was laid.
They had to pass the end of the great marquee, and Dick and Jerry, who were last, paused, while the latter drew the drapery a little on one side, holding it back before letting it fall after him.
“I must get back to my table, sir,” he said. “Like a peep from here?”
Dick nodded and stood at the opening, gazing along the marquee toward the opening into the mess-room at the other end, the effect being very beautiful, with the long row of gaseliers and the vista of flags and red and white striped drapery running up to the narrow ridge of the roof.
But Dick saw nothing of this; his eyes sought the group right at the other end beneath the little elevated orchestra he had just left, and he was just making out where his cousin sat when there was a flash like sheet-lightning running along the upper part of the canvas, reaching from end to end. He felt himself thrust violently back, as he seemed to be struck with something heavy and soft; then there was a deep, dull report, as of thunder, and all was dark, while from where the marquee had stood there came wild shrieks, cries for help, and a strange babel of sounds, which, issuing from beneath what in the darkness looked like a chaotic sea, were for the most part smothered and strange.