Even while he spoke the sinister odor grew stronger. Now their horrified ears caught the crackle of the flames as they ate their way toward them. Sparks drifted in through the window and lay glowing on the floor of the place.
“The door! Try it once more. It’s our last chance!”
It was Stanley who spoke. His words came chokingly in the reek of the burning building. But as once more their shoulders crashed against the heavy portal they fell back with a groan of despair. They had made no more impression on it than if it had been made of boiler plate.
Suddenly an explosion, sharper and more ear-splitting than its predecessors, detonated—in their very faces, as it seemed. They were flung reeling in every direction, while suffocating fumes and dust filled the air.
Ned felt a sharp pain in his leg and put down his hand. It came away red and sticky. A flying splinter had struck him. Anxiously he gazed about him. His companions lay as they had been flung. But an instant later they began scrambling to their feet.
“W-what happened?” gasped Ned.
“A shell burst in our faces almost—and look!”
Stanley’s voice broke off in a joyous yell.
The oaken door, riven and splintered by the projectile, hung saggingly on one hinge. A child could have pushed it open.
“I’d give six months’ pay to the fellow who aimed that gun!” cried Stanley, as the Americans charged in a body on the tottering portal. It was swept aside with a crash, and out they poured into the street. Their guards had long since fled. The only visible inhabitants about were the pigs. Here and there these horrible creatures were nosing huddled forms, which the boys realized with a chill were those of victims of the bombardment. It was the first glimpse of war at close quarters for Ned and Herc. They felt rather sickened.