The three guardians of the Law stared at one another.
"If ye plaze, sorr," said Officer Cassidy, saluting.
"Well?"
"May I spake, sorr?"
"Well?"
"Something's exploded, sorr!"
The information, kindly meant though it was, seemed to annoy the captain.
"What the devil did you think I thought had happened?" he demanded, with not a little irritation, "It was a bomb!"
Archie could have corrected this diagnosis, for already a faint but appealing aroma of an alcoholic nature was creeping into the room through a hole in the ceiling, and there had risen before his eyes the picture of J. B. Wheeler affectionately regarding that barrel of his on the previous morning in the studio upstairs. J. B. Wheeler had wanted quick results, and he had got them. Archie had long since ceased to regard J. B. Wheeler as anything but a tumour on the social system, but he was bound to admit that he had certainly done him a good turn now. Already these honest men, diverted by the superior attraction of this latest happening, appeared to have forgotten his existence.
"Sorr!" said Officer Donahue.
"Well?"
"It came from upstairs, sorr."
"Of course it came from upstairs. Cassidy!"
"Sorr?"
"Get down into the street, call up the reserves, and stand at the front entrance to keep the crowd back. We'll have the whole city here in five minutes."
"Right, sorr."
