Instantly there was a terrible sucking sound and a great flash of light. As George fell back into the cartridge, it streaked up the track of the catapult and out into the night so fast, that it seemed, a moment later, never to have been there at all. There was a beat of silence, and then, frighteningly, all the heavens seemed to tremble with an angry light. A moment later a roar of thunder rolled back across the earth and crashed deafeningly against the walls of the old house. It was as though the whole universe shook with a destructive rage.
Toffee gazed weakly toward the now darkened heavens. "Bon Voyage, George!" she murmured. Then she turned back to the darkness. "Marc!"
There was no answer, but as she waited, the beam of a flashlight knifed the darkness in the direction of the small catapult. The Blemishes, murmuring together, were back at work. Toffee crept forward until she was close enough to hear what they were saying.
"I don't care what they're up to," Cecil said. "I don't care if they all went to eternity, it's eight thirty and we're going to launch the bomb. After that, they can live or die or sit around in their stocking feet. It won't make any difference to us."
Gerald directed the beam of the flashlight up the track of the small catapult, then to the face of the turret.
"There he is!" he cried.
Marc, spread eagled across the face of the metal covering, was clinging frantically to the cable that lifted the contrivance. As the light caught him, he glanced around, but made no effort to avoid discovery. He seemed curiously agitated.
"Fine!" Cecil said. "That's a good place for him. We'll get him with the bomb. Put the light back here so I can see what I'm doing."
"That dame would have to blow out the lights," Gerald said sullenly.