Tom Tiddler's Island, стр. 71
In the flurry of the adventure his sense of time had been blunted, and he had no idea whether minutes or seconds still remained before the firing of the rocket. There were only two choices before him. He might shoot Hawes now, when the gunman was at his mercy; but in that case he would throw the main scheme out of gear and probably assure the triumph of Leo and his confederates. Or he might wait; in which case the girls would be at the mercy of the armed man in their room.
Above him he could hear the heavy breathing of Hawes as he clambered up the difficult face of the house. Luckily, in the dark he had to grope for hand- and foot-holds, which wasted some of the precious seconds. There came a rustle, as he grasped at the stem of the creeper. Colin knew that his next reach would bring him to the window-sill. And still the rocket did not come.
The gunman’s head and shoulders were just visible now in the diffused light from the window. Colin saw him put out his right hand and grasp the sill. Another effort and he would have his knee up. Colin put his thumb on the button of his flash-lamp and lifted his pistol.
Then came a sound like some giant drawing his breath through his teeth. The rocket! But the explosion which followed was far more formidable than any rocket ever made. Then, in quick succession, swish! swish! swish! the other rockets followed, and the reports of the explosions shook the house. Something fell with a thud like a giant hammer-stroke, and glass tinkled like an harmonica.
Colin switched on his lamp and revealed Hawes, clinging to the house-side like some grotesque and gigantic insect: one hand on the sill, the other clutching the creeper. As the glare fell on him, he turned his head, saw Colin, loosed his hand from the sill, made an effort to pull out bis pistol. But as he did so his whole weight came on the creeper; the tendrils gave way, and Hawes pitched backwards on to the ground. Colin darted forward, but one glance in the light of the flash-lamp showed him that he need do nothing. It required no experience in first aid to diagnose the cause of that curious wryness in the attitude of the body. Hawes had pitched on his head, and his neck was broken.
The window was thrown up and Colin saw Hazel leaning out.
“Who’s there?” she cried tensely. Then, as her eyes caught the picture in the circle of the flash-lamp’s glare: “It’s you? Are you safe?” She turned back into the room as he nodded: “Jean! Here’s Colin, dear.” Then, as Jean ran to her side: Where’s Cyril? Is he all right?”
“Yes,” said Colin at a venture. “Back in a minute.”
He tore himself away reluctantly and raced round the house to assist the others. With some idea of taking the gunmen in the rear, he dashed through the front door and made for the lounge. It was only afterwards that he discovered he had been using his flash-light. At the moment he was so keyed up that he failed to notice that no lamps were alight in the hall.
As he reached the open door of the lounge a flash-lamp glared in his eyes. Northfleet’s voice reassured him.
“Oh, it’s you, Trent? What luck?”
“Hawes broke his neck. The girls are all right,” said Colin breathlessly. Then at the sight of the lounge he gasped in surprise. “What the devil has happened?”
“I must have misgauged my fireworks a trifle,” said Northfleet with a sinister grin. “The ceiling came down on top of our friends and saved us trouble. Leo’s dead, Natorp’s just passing in his checks, and this drunken lout—Scarry, I believe—has got concussion and some other damage which will probably rid us of him for good. We hadn’t to fire a shot; just walked in and took away their guns.”
He broke off and turned to Leven, who was stooping over Scarry.
“There are fire-extinguishers in the hall. Get ’em, and put these curtains out, or we’ll have the place ablaze over our heads.”
Colin now noticed that here the electric lights were out and the curtains afire, evidently set alight by sparks from the rockets. The air was filled with dust and smoke. Colin smelt the tang of exploded fireworks in his nostrils. Huge slabs of broken plaster littered the floor, partly concealing the bodies of the gunmen who had been overwhelmed when the ceiling gave way.
“No rockets ever did that!” Colin exclaimed. “What was it?”
“The alchemists called it aurum fulminans” Northfleet answered. “I promised these swine they’d get enough gold to satisfy them. I guess I’ve kept my word. And I don’t think they’ll come back to ask for more now.”
“Oh!” ejaculated Colin, suddenly enlightened. “So that was what you meant all the time.
“Yes,” said Northfleet impatiently. “I’ve no time to explain just now. I must see Hazel. Are you coming?”
He hurried up the stair, with Colin at his heels.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE HOLE IN THE FENCE
WHEN Northfleet and Colin returned to the lounge they found the detective standing by what had once been the fireplace, examining imperturbably the wreckage which cumbered the room.
“Well, Mr. Northfleet, you seem to have given them a house-warming of sorts,” he commented ironically.
“One does one’s best. What happened to you?”
“Oh, I hobbled up as quick as I could; but when I got to the window it didn’t take much penetration to see that you needed no help here. So I went round to lend Mr. Trent a hand in case of accidents. But all I found was someone with his neck out of joint; so I came back here and found you gone. Professor Leven explained matters, more or less. The young ladies are all right, I hope?”
“A bit shaken