“To the windows! Look out for poison gas!”
McCarty had groped grimly forward but Dennis was more thoroughly at home in the crisis than he had been at any time since the inception of the affair. He shouted directions and encouragement, darting about as unconcernedly and with as much certitude as though his eyes could penetrate the murky, opaque gloom which enveloped him.
The sound of their own rushing footsteps and the successive crash of furniture as the officials lunged against it drowned out all others until close at hand a door slammed and a mocking chuckle of laughter seemed to drift back to them.
“He’s gone!” One of the officials gasped, as he found a window at last and flung it open.
“He won’t go far!” the inspector retorted grimly. “Find all the windows and doors and let’s get a draught through! I want that letter he wrote!”
In the rush of fresh air which came swirling in, the room rapidly cleared and they saw that it was indeed empty of any presence save their own but the white square of the envelope tilted against the inkwell was plainly discernible and the inspector seized upon it.
Choking, strangling, with smarting, streaming eyes, he peered closely at the inscription and then threw up his head.
“Great guns! It’s addressed to McCarty!”
CHAPTER XXII
ANNIHILATION
McCarty stumbled forward and took the envelope held out to him, turning to the window where he bent forward for the rush of cool air to play over his face. It was addressed simply to: “Ex-Roundsman McCarty” and the second line read: “Delivered by hand.” Slitting it open he glanced quickly down the few lines it contained and then at his companions.