h an imperative question.

"Is it true, do you think? Will he do it? Quick!"

"Crazy," said Hal.

"God forgive me!" prayed the ex-navy man as his arm whipped up.

There were two quick reports. At the second, Veltman stopped, half
turned, threw his arms widely outward, and vanished in a blinding glare,
accompanied by a gigantic _snap!_ as if a mountain of rock had been
riven in twain.

To Hal it seemed that the universe had disintegrated in that
concussion. Blackness surrounded him. He was on the floor, half
crouching, and, to his surprise, unhurt. Groping his way to the window
he leaned out above an appalling silence. It endured only a moment. Then
rose the terrible clamor of a mob in panic-stricken flight, above an
insistent undertone of groans, sobs, and prayers.

"I had to kill him," muttered Dr. Elliot's shaking voice at Hal's ear.
"There was just the one chance before he could throw his bomb."

Every light in the building had gone out. Guiding himself by the light
of matches, Hal hurried across to his den. He heard Esme's voice before
he could make her out, standing near the door. "Is any one hurt?"

Hal breathed a great sigh. "You're all right, then! We don't know how
bad it is."

"An explosion?"

"Veltman threw a bomb. He's killed."

"Boy-ee!" called Dr. Surtaine.

"Here, Dad. You're safe?"

"Yes."

"Thank God! Careful with that match! The place is strewn with papers."

Men from below came hurrying in with candles, which are part of every
newspaper's emergency equipment. They reported no serious injuries to
the staff or the equipment. Although the plate-glass window had been
shattered into a million fragments and the inner fortification toppled
over, the precious press had miraculously escaped injury. But in a
strewn circle, outside, lay rent corpses, and the wounded pitifully
striving to crawl from that shambles.

With the steadiness which comes to nerves racked to the point of
collapse, Hal made the rounds of the building. Two men in the pressroom
were slightly hurt. Their fellows would look after them. Wayne, with his
men, was already in the street, combining professional duty with first
aid. The scattered and stricken mob had begun to sift back, only a
subdued and curious crowd now. Then came the ambulances and the belated
police, systematizing the work.

Quarter of an hour had passed when Dr. Surtaine, Esme Elliot, her
uncle--much surprised at finding her there--and Hal stood in the
ed