Though the ground was soft,
the descent shook him and imbedded him so deeply he could not extricate
himself for some time. But terror lends energy, and he was now
thoroughly terrified: he thrust the letters in his pocket, and, being an
excellent swimmer, dashed at once into the river; but he soon found it
choked up with masonry and debris of every kind: he coasted this, got
into the stream, and swam across to the other side. Then taking the
lowest and darkest streets, contrived at last to get home, wet and
filthy, and quaking.

Ransome and his men examined the shattered building within and without;
but no trace could be found of any human being, alive or dead.

Then they got to the river-side with lights, and here they found
foot-marks. Ransome set men to guard these from being walked over.

Attention was soon diverted from these. Several yards from the torn
building, a woman was found lying all huddled together on a heap of
broken masonry. She was in her night-dress, and a counterpane half over
her. Her forehead and head were bleeding, and she was quite insensible.
The police recognized her directly. It was Jael Dence.

She was alive, though insensible, and Ransome had her conveyed at once
to the infirmary.

"Bring more lights to the water-side," said he: "the explosion has acted
in that direction."

Many torches were brought. Keen eyes scanned the water. One or two
policemen got out upon the ruins of the chimney, and went ankle-deep in
water. But what they sought could not be found. Ransome said he was glad
of it. Everybody knew what he meant.

He went back to Little's room, and examined it minutely. In the passage
he found a card-case. It was lying on the door. Ransome took it up
mechanically, and put it in his pocket. He did not examine it at this
time: he took for granted it was Little's. He asked one of his men
whether a man had not been seen in that room. The officer said, "Yes."

"Did he come down?"

"No; and I can't think how he got out."

"It is plain how he got out; and that accounts for something I observed
in the mud. Now, Williams, you go to my place for that stuff I use to
take the mold of footprints. Bring plenty. Four of you scour the town,
and try and find out who has gone home with river-mud on his shoes or
trousers. Send me the porter."

When the porter came, he asked him whether Mr. Little had slept in the
works.

The porter could not say for certain.

"Well, but what was his habit