the last rumble of the explosion had hardly died away before anthony luttrell had flung open the study door, and was making his way at a run towards the yellow drawing-room.

at the glass door which led on to the terrace he halted, opened it wide, and stood on the step looking out. some glass was still falling from the broken windows on this side of the house. all the terrace on the right of where he stood was like a drawing in which the perspective has gone wrong. there was a great bulge in one place, and some of the paving-stones were tilted aslant, whilst others had fallen in, leaving a gaping hole over which a cloud of dust was settling.

anthony turned his back upon all this and came back with great strides into the hall. without so much as a look behind him to see whether he was observed, he loosened the spring, pushed open the door in the panelling and there halted, suddenly remembering the need of a light. he went back for a torch, and then passed down the steps without waiting to close the door.

that something appalling had happened was obvious. with the self-control without which it is impossible to meet an emergency anthony kept his thought focused upon what he was doing. at the bottom of the steps the way was still clear. he saw jane’s broken pots and wondered what on earth they were doing there. then he turned into the laboratory passage, flashing the light ahead of him. half-way along the passage the roof had fallen in.

anthony turned, came back into the main corridor, ran along it until he came to the place where the well passage joined it. here he turned off, made his way cautiously past the well, and again found a mass of stone and rubble blocking his path. a cold horror came over him, and all those thoughts to which he had barred his mind came insistently nearer, pressing past those barriers and taking his consciousness by storm. he came back into the hall and shut the door in the panelling.

the hall was quite empty, but the voice of blotson could be heard at no great distance. it was raised in exhortation and rebuke. obviously he rallied a staff which inclined to hysteria, for one could hear a woman’s sobs and a subdued chorus of perturbation and nervous inquiry.

anthony went to the front door and flung it open. his car stood at a little distance, the inspector and the chauffeur in close conversation. anthony did not see them. he only saw raymond heritage, who was coming slowly up the steps. she was bareheaded, and her face was very pale. she wore a white dress with a black cloak over it. she stumbled twice as she climbed the steps and, if anthony was only conscious of seeing her, she did not appear to be conscious of seeing any one at all.

it was only when the hand which she put out in front of her actually touched anthony that she lifted her eyes and looked at him. then she said in an odd, piteous sort of voice:

“tony.”

“what is it? what has happened, raymond? are you all right?”

“i must speak to you—i must,” she said, catching at his arm and drawing him towards the study. they went in, and when the door was shut she turned to him with the tears running down her face.

“tony, you heard? i think he’s dead. that place downstairs was mined, and he tried to kill us all, only we got away, henry, the girl, and i. but jeffrey’s dead—yes, i think he must be dead, and i know now what you thought. i didn’t know what you meant before, but i know now. you were wrong, tony. oh, tony, won’t you believe me? i didn’t tell him about the passages, and i didn’t know anything until to-day. they can tell you i was speaking the truth—henry and miss molloy; but, oh, tony, can’t you believe me, just me?”

anthony looked at her, and looked. his face was twitching. as her voice broke on the last two words he dropped to his knees, flung his arms about her, and hid his face in the folds of her cloak.

by the time that jane and henry came into the house blotson had set all his machinery running once more. he himself presented a magnificent front to two of the most dishevelled people whom he had ever been called upon to receive. it was not until afterwards when it came home to henry how much green slime there was in his wildly ruffled hair, and how little the original colour of his collar could be discerned, that he realised how marvellous had been the unflinching calm of blotson. he referred neither to the explosion nor to henry’s appearance. in point of fact, what were emergencies and accidents that blotson should notice them? the hour being five o’clock, it was his business to announce tea. he announced it.

“tea is served in the library,” he said, and passed upon his way.

but in the library the tea cooled while henry, very much relieved to find that the wires had not been cut, galvanised the withstead exchange and got on to a distinctly relieved sir julian.

they arranged, speaking in italian, that an explosion had occurred in the course of an important experiment in sir william’s laboratory. it was agreed to notify sir william and the press. the loss of two lives was greatly to be deplored. when this was finished piggy became less official.

“that girl of yours is a brick; you can tell her so from me. she’s all right, i hope?”

henry said “yes,” that jane was quite all right. he sounded a trifle puzzled.

piggy laughed.

“didn’t you know she had rung me up to say you’d been nobbled? most businesslike communication i’ve ever had from a lady in all my life. told me they’d got a motor-boat in withstead cove. and, thanks to her, we ought to have gathered it in. i got through to the coastguard station at once. now look here, what’s the likelihood of laying hands on ember’s papers?”

“ember’s papers?” repeated henry. “well, there was a safe down there, and that’s where he’d be most likely to keep them; but i expect they’re all gone to blazes, as the door was open.”

at this point jane’s voice came in breathlessly:

“henry, wait, keep him on the line!” she said, and was gone.

“it’s jane, sir,” said henry. “i think she’s gone to get something.”

in the middle of piggy’s subsequent instructions jane came back. she held a bundle of closely written sheets. she spread them before henry’s eyes, holding them fan-wise like a hand at cards.

“i’d forgotten them till you said that about the papers—i’d actually forgotten them. it’s lists of his agents in all the big towns everywhere. i sat up all night copying them because i didn’t dare keep the originals. i keep forgetting you don’t know what’s been happening. but tell him, henry, tell him we’ve got the lists.”

henry told him.

jane heard sir julian answer, and then henry hung up the receiver and hugged her.

“what did he say? henry, you’re breaking my ribs! what did he say?”

“jane, you’re a brick, and a wonder, and a darling, and he said—he said, ‘bless you, my children!’”