ing here?"

The ugly suspicion in her voice left Anna speechless for a moment.

"Don't move, please," said Natalie's cold voice. "Stay just where you
are." She reached behind the curtain at the doorway, and Anna heard the
far-away ringing of a bell, insistent and prolonged. The girl roused
herself with an effort.

"I came to see Mr. Spencer."

"That is a likely story! Who let you in?"

"Mr. Spencer."

"Mr. Spencer is not in."

"But he did. I'm telling you the truth. Indeed I am. I rang the bell,
and he came to the door. I had something to tell him."

"What could you possibly have to tell my husband at this hour."

But Anna Klein did not answer. From far away there came a dull report
followed almost immediately by a second one. The windows rattled, and
the house seemed to rock rather gently on its foundation. Then silence.

Anna Klein picked up her empty pocket-book from the table and looked at
it.

"I was too late," she said dully, and the next moment she was lying at
Natalie's feet.

CHAPTER XLII

It was not until dawn that the full extent of the disaster was revealed.
All night, by the flames from the sheds in the yard, which were of wood
and still burning, rescue parties had worked frantically. Two of the
long buildings, nearest to the fuse department, had collapsed entirely.
Above the piles of fallen masonry might be seen, here and there, the
black mass of some machine or lathe, and it was there the search parties
were laboring. Luckily the fuse department had not gone double turn, and
the night shift in the machine-shop was not a full one.

The fuse department was a roaring furnace, and repeated calls had
brought in most of the fire companies of the city. Running back and
forth in the light of the flames were the firemen and such volunteer
rescuers as had been allowed through the police cordon. Outside that
line of ropes and men were gathered a tragic crowd, begging, imploring
to be allowed through to search for some beloved body. Now and then
a fresh explosion made the mob recoil, only to press close again,
importuning, tragic, hopeless.

The casualty list ran high. All night long ambulances stood in a row
along the street, backed up to the curb and waiting, and ever so often a
silent group, in broken step, carried out some quiet covered thing that
would never move again.

With the dawn Graham found his father. He had thrown off his coat and in
his shirt-sleeves was, with other rescuers,