He tried once more to move the crushing roof. He might as well have tried to push down the Bank of England with an umbrella.
Next there came to him a sudden thought, a realisation that at least one thing was in his favour. As far as he knew he was perfectly unhurt. He felt fairly certain that no limbs were broken, and that he had no severe internal injury. He was cut and bruised, doubtless, and still giddy from the blow of the impact, but, save for this, there could be no doubt that he had been most mercifully preserved.
The air was full of confused noises, shouts, the roaring of escaped steam, cries of agony. The duke added his clamour to the rest. His voice was full and strong, and echoed and re-echoed in his ears.
Nothing happened, and now for the first time a sickening feeling of fear came to him and his cries sank into silence.
Almost immediately afterwards he heard a noise much nearer than before, much more distinct and individual. It was a crashing, regular noise, some one was working at the débris.
Once more he shouted, and this time an answering hail came to him.
"Is anyone there?"
"Yes," the duke called out. "I am pinned down here by a heavy mass of timber."
"Are you badly injured?"
"I don't think I'm much hurt, only it is impossible for me to move."