"We'd better get out of here the fastest ever," yelled Don.
Then a wild dash for safety was on. Down the winding stairway they clattered, sometimes taking two or three steps at a time. If fear lent wings to their feet, their very disregard of the fear of tumbling served to prevent such a catastrophe.
In these thrilling instants Don Hale could not help recalling their experiences with the French artillery officer; he remembered the deadly accuracy of the fire, and how the wireless station had disappeared in a cloud of smoke and dust. He could hear the captain saying, "Inscribe the elements." No doubt some German officer would be giving exactly the same command in a few minutes, when the range of the château had been found.
In a panic of fear, the ambulanciers rushed out of the tower, and, like hares fleeing before the hunter, continued down the grand stairway. And scarcely had the three reached the foot when they heard another frightful roar. The building gave a sudden lurch, the violence of which sent them staggering, tumbling in all directions. Then the resounding din of smashing glass—of falling débris filled the air. Momentarily they expected the walls to come crashing down upon them. Each experienced a feeling of awful helplessness, as, with half stifled cries, they picked themselves up and made a concerted dash through the various apartments toward the window.
One after another, they fairly hurled themselves over the sill and landed in a heap on the ground.
Up they were in a second and off again, running wildly—desperately—trying to get out of the line of fire. Feelings of hope and hopelessness coursed through them, as, panting and breathless from their exertions, they plunged ahead almost abreast.
But before a distance of seventy-five feet had been covered there came a third detonation—a horrible, crashing, stupendous roar, so terrible in its character that it could only have been made by a very much larger projectile than the others.
The ambulanciers were lifted off their feet and hurled violently to the ground.
Don Hale's pale, fear-stricken face was turned toward the château, and, although partially dazed by the shock, his faculties remained sufficiently clear for him to see what was taking place. Above an enormous, swirling cloud of inky smoke rose the tower of the ancient château. It was beginning to lean. It was shaking.
Unable to regain sufficient control over his trembling nerves to rise, Don Hale, quite breathless, almost spellbound, kept his gaze fixed upon it.