Then, as things cleared, and I suppose it could only have been an instant before they did so, I found myself in a gleaming tunnel, surrounded by unfamiliar machinery.
A man lying within three yards of me, his face like wet, red velvet, suddenly jerked up his body like a marionette. His arms shot out, there was a deafening explosion, and something rang behind my head like a gong smitten without warning. I shot him in the body, and then I saw three dripping figures growling and worrying upon the floor like wolves. They rolled about with a crash and clank of metal until the great arm of the Cornishman, Bosustow, rose and fell three times like a flail.
At the far end of the tunnel, there were more reports, and then I saw my brother walking along a sort of grating and coming towards me.
Everything seemed to rock and dissolve. I fell back against an upright of some sort or other and my senses nearly went. I thought I was in bed at Morstone House School and the seven-o'clock bell was tolling.
Once more, things cleared. Everything gradually became distinct. The infernal noise, the wild welter of sound, was hushed. Only two yards away from me, a man dressed as a sailor was kneeling before my brother, who held a pistol to his head. The man's hands were held up, his face was a white wedge of terror, and a constant stream of words bubbled from his livid lips.
"Yes, sir. Karl, sir. Coming, sir. Porterhouse steak, sir, what you always used to like. No, sir—Swiss really—not a German. Oh, Captain Carey, don't kill me, sir"—the voice rose into a shriek of agony—"I am Karl, sir!"—the words came in an ecstasy of conviction. "Karl, head-waiter at the Portsmouth Royal! Why, sir, you've tipped me half a crown twenty times. Oh, sir ..."
My brother's face seemed cut in granite, but he began to laugh.
"Tie this up!" he said, and Adams ran forward—Adams was all black and red and his clothes were torn.
Then Bernard turned to me.
"By God!" he said, "we've done it, John, we've done it so far!"