"Yes, it took the devil's own pluck, old man. By Jingo! when a chap's ideas are whirling in his head and he can't use his brain, upon my word, all he asks is to die? And then there was no air, you see. I couldn't breathe. I went on digging, however, as you saw, went on digging while I was half asleep, in a sort of nightmare. Just look: my fingers are in a jelly. But there, I was thinking of that confounded business of the explosion and I wanted to warn you at all costs, and I dug away at my tunnel. What a job! And then, oof! I felt space at last!
"I got my hand through and next my arm. Where was I? Why, over the telephone, of course! I knew that at once by feeling the wall and finding the wires. Then it took me quite half an hour to get hold of the instrument. I couldn't reach it with my arm.
"I managed at last with a piece of string and a slip-knot to fish up the receiver and hold it near my mouth, or, say, at ten inches from my mouth. And then I shouted and roared to make my voice carry; and, all the time, I was in pain. And then, at last, my string broke…. And then—and then—I hadn't an ounce of strength left in my body. Besides, you fellows had been warned; and it was for you to get yourselves out of the mess."
He looked at Mazeroux and asked him, as though certain of the reply:
"The explosion took place, didn't it?"
"Yes, Chief."
"At three o'clock exactly?"
"Yes."
"And of course M. Desmalions had the house cleared?"
"Yes."