The haul was a magnificent one, and though they had not yet succeeded in getting clear, both men were gloating over their booty—a triumphant satisfaction that no burglar can repress.
The scene was a weird one. The glaring light thrown by the jet had been extinguished, but the steel still glowed with heat, and Ansell blistered his fingers when they had accidentally touched the edge. The only light now was a small electric torch which threw direct rays in a small zone. But of a sudden, both men heard a noise—the distinct footsteps of a man crossing the shop!
They straightened their backs, and, for a second, looked at each other in alarm.
Next instant a big, burly night-watchman dashed in upon them, crying:
“What do you fellows want ’ere—eh?”
“Nothing. Take that!” replied Ansell, as he raised his hand and dashed something into the man’s face.
But too late. The man raised his revolver and fired.
Though the bullet went wide, the report was deafening in that small inner room, and both intruders knew that the alarm was raised. Not a second was to be lost. The police-constable on duty outside would hear it!
Without hesitation, Ralph Ansell raised his arm and instantly fired, point blank, at the man defending the property of his master.