ESCAPE! Quick as thought, at sound of the imperative summons and sight of the levelled weapons, Gabriel swept up most of the papers and crammed them into the breast of his loose flannel shirt, then dashed the lamp to the floor, extinguishing it.

The room grew dark, for now the fire had burned down to hardly more than glowing coals.
There was no panic; the men did not curse, neither did the women scream.
As though the tactic had already been agreed on, Craig tipped the table up, making a kind of barricade; and over it Grantham's revolver, snatched from his belt, spat viciously.
It all happened in a moment.
The foremost spy grunted, coughed and plunged forward.

As he fell, he fired his terrible weapon.
The bullet--a small, thin metal shell, filled with a secret chemical and liquid oxygen--went wild.

It struck the wall, some feet to the left of the fireplace, and instantly the wood burst into vivid flame.

Flesh would crisp to nothing, solid stone would crumble, metal would gutter and run down, under that awful incandescence.
Again Grantham's revolver barked, while Bevard tugged at his own, which had unaccountably got stuck in its holster.