"I've got it!" she called, and the distraught statues in the opposite cell immediately came to life.
"Let's see it!" Marc yelled excitedly.
"Just a minute," Toffee replied. "Wait 'til I get it open. I want to see what's inside."
"Don't!" Marc screamed. "It'll blow up! Throw it over here, to me."
"Oh, all right," Toffee agreed reluctantly. "Here it comes."
Like a bullet dispelled from a gun that was anxious to be rid of its burden, the capsule shot across the aisle, and in spite of Marc's frantic clutching gestures, cracked sharply against an unrelenting iron bar. Then, it dropped back, into the center of the passage.
Marc turned dazedly to Toffee, opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. The tiny jail was suddenly all smoke, flame and blackness, more or less in that order, and its surprised inmates were suffering the eerie sensation of having the floor treacherously snatched from beneath their very feet.
Elevating his nose from its uncomfortable position astride a cold, iron bar, Marc glanced unbelieving at the devastation about him. The jail was a shattered shambles, and well ventilated in the extreme. Here and there, ghostly pockets of smoke were arising slowly through beams of moonlight. Somewhere behind him, there was the sound of an iron door being flung aside, and sitting up, he looked around.
"Damn!" Toffee said with elegant profanity. "My dress is a mess."