There was a sharp explosion, and half the veranda was torn away. Verbeck and the others reeled backward. A cloud of smoke filled the air; and it was not the pungent vapor used by the Black Star in his bombs.
"That was the real thing!" Verbeck declared.
The chief was pale and trembling as he retreated.
"I'll get that fiend!" he declared. "Look at the hole that explosion made in the porch floor! If a man had been over that——"
"They set it off too quick!" the sheriff said. "We've got to move carefully, or we'll be having casualties."
"We must take that chance!" the chief said. "We've got to get that fiend, and policemen are paid to run into trouble when it is necessary. Into the house, men! Get in any way that you can! Try to take care of yourselves, but get in!"
The officers cheered and shouted. They plunged toward windows and doors. They smashed panes of glass in, and hurled themselves against doors as if they knew no fear.
Half a dozen explosions came, but no man was injured. Here and there a policeman made an entrance, and others followed him. Within five minutes Verbeck and the chief and Kowen found that all were inside, gathered in the big hall at the front of the house, and that no man had received a scratch.
"I guess we're on the right trail, sure enough!" the chief said.
"And this is where we must be careful," declared Roger Verbeck. "This is where we are liable to run into traps."