“Thelma! Thelma! My God! Thelma!” I cried, trying in vain to arouse her.
But she still remained there with her beautiful head drooped in a manner which showed that either death or unconsciousness had overtaken her.
I realized that death was very close to both of us. For myself I cared little. I could face it. But Thelma! Must I, loving her as I did, watch her die before my eyes?
Those moments of agony seemed like hours. Outside the circle of light thrown by the candle the room seemed dark and cavernous. The smell of motor-spirit hung heavily on the air and the silence was absolute. I could even hear my watch ticking in my pocket. Unless a miracle happened we were doomed. I had become too weak to make more than feeble efforts to free myself and these, of course, were futile.
“How much longer?” I caught myself asking. How long would it be before that innocent-looking globe splits asunder and lets loose its flood of fire. As the slow moments passed the pressure of the vapor within caused the thin film of rubber which held the inflammable spirit to swell larger and larger.
At first, I had noticed, it sagged heavily, dragged down by the weight of the liquid. Now the bright yellow globe was distended until it seemed on the very point of bursting. The white printed words of the advertisement on its sides danced mockingly before my eyes.
Now and again the flame of the candle flickered, caught by some stray breath of air. Then it steadied and grew bright. I noticed that the wax had begun to gutter into the plate. The evil flame fascinated me: held my eyes fixed on it in helpless horror.
By this time the balloon had become distended to twice its original size.
Suddenly the end came. The balloon split apart. A blaze of flame momentarily lit up the room and in its lurid glow I caught a glimpse of Thelma. At the same instant I heard a door open.
Then all was blackness and I knew no more.