"I don't care about fooling with a dynamite factory," remarked one of the men.
Dick, at a dead run, joined the party.
"Come along!" he cried. "Let's break down the door and find out whether the poor fellow is hurt."
"Yes! And have that 'poor fellow' hand you a peck of nitro-glycerine for a surprise," retorted a man.
"Come on, fellows! We can get the door down without help," Dick called, appealing to his chums.
All five of them rallied to his support. It took but a few sturdy shoulder blows to complete the work of the explosion and break the lock of the door.
Dick took one quick look inside.
"Tom, run and 'phone for a physician!" Prescott called back. "Poor Garwood is unconscious, and cut. He's bleeding. Poor chap, with his lop-sided mind and his 'mastery of the world' imaginings!"
Reade sped away. As soon as the crowd found there was no danger there was a rush to the scene. Darrin and three friends managed to hold the crowd somewhat at bay, while Prescott assisted two women in trying to bring the injured man to.
"I hope he doesn't get away this time," thought Dick. "If Garwood remains at large much longer he'll fix up a bang-bang that will carry him clean into the next world!"