Nick actually had his mouth open to call to his wide-awake second assistant, when a crash that might have meant the blowing up of the whole building stopped him.
The sound began with a swish such as often precedes the boom of an explosion of certain kinds of chemicals.
It was followed immediately by a heaven-splitting cr-r-rack, and then by the thunderous letting go of what might have been one of the heaviest guns known to modern ordnance.
Simultaneously, the big wooden warehouse rocked on its foundations, and Chick fell from the window ledge back to the cellar.
Down went Nick to the floor after him. He had only just got there, and placed his hands on the clothing of his assistant, when another explosion, even more terrifying than the first, sent the stone-wall foundations scattering in all directions.
Nick found himself hemmed in by heaps of splintered wood, while the upper part of the building, caving in one side, formed an arch over him that threatened to collapse at any moment.
“Chick!” he cried. “Where are you?”
There was no answer. He had not expected any.
His assistant had slipped from his grasp at the second explosion, and the general disturbance had separated them. In the heaps of débris it was impossible for Nick to see him at once.
“Heaven preserve us!” muttered the detective. “I’ve got to find him!”