‘4179,’ he answered promptly.
‘Thank you!’ remarked a bland voice from the doorway.
To state that Hagan could have kicked himself for his stupidity, is to put the case mildly. Conscious that no words of his could possibly regain lost ground, he stared blankly at the accusing face of the officer.
‘It’s all UP, matey,’ whispered the orderly, indulging in an open guffaw.
‘Thin I may as well be afther gettin’ on me bhoots,’ remarked the culprit quietly, rising to his feet. ‘You’ve bin done down, Tim, me bhoy, and there ain’t no manner av use in kickin’.’
What happened next in that little school-house, as regards points of detail, has never been actually recorded. That a deafening explosion resembling the noise of the end of all things earthly, accompanied by the caving in of the brickwork of the side of the room, and followed by the collapse of most of the roof, took place at that moment are facts of history.
‘It has come at last,’ groaned the doctor. ‘Thank God, there are only a few men in the building.’
A second later, a tottering rafter, swaying beneath its weight of tiles, fell with a sickening crash and buried him beneath its ruins.
In an instant all had become chaos.
Whatever the damage done, it was probably at an end. Hagan appreciated that much immediately. That he himself remained unhurt was a miracle. The orderly, holding both hands to his head, lay like a log on the floor. Several stretchers, with their occupants, lay buried beneath the débris of brick and plaster.