The room was now thick with smoke, biting and gripping the men’s throats. Hampered by coughing and bad light, they could not work fast. But at last they got the couch across the room and planted end on to the door. Standing one at each side, they swung it back and then with all their strength drove it against the timber. A second time they drove, and a third, till at the fourth blow there was a sound of splitting wood, and the job was done. Or so they thought. A moment later they found their mistake. The right bottom panel only was gone. ‘The left panel! Then the bar between!’ Though the men worked feverishly, their operations took time. The smoke was now increasing rapidly. And then suddenly La Touche heard a terrible, ominous sound. Crackling was beginning somewhere not far off. ‘We haven’t much time, Mallet,’ he gasped, as the sweat poured down his face. Desperately they drove the couch against the bar. Still it held. The terrible fear that the couch would come to pieces was in both their hearts. ‘The torch!’ cried Mallet hoarsely. ‘Quick, or we’re done!’ Drawing his magazine pistol and holding it close to the door, he fired its full charge of seven shots at the vertical bar. La Touche instantly grasped his idea, and emptied his two remaining shots at the same place. The bar was thus perforated by a transverse line of nine holes. There was a singing in the men’s ears and a weight on their chests as, with the energy of despair, they literally hurled the heavy couch against the weakened bar. With a tearing sound it gave way. They could get through. ‘You for it, Mallet! Quick!’ yelled La Touche, as he staggered drunkenly back. But there was no answer. Through the swirling clouds the detective could see his assistant lying motionless. That last tremendous effort had finished him. La Touche’s own head was swimming. He could no longer think connectedly. Half unconsciously he pulled the other’s arms to the hole. Then, passing through, he turned to draw his confrère out. But the terrible roaring was swelling in his ears, the weight on his chest was growing insupportable, and a black darkness was coming down over him like a pall. Insensible, he collapsed, half in and half out of the doorway. As he fell there was a lurid flicker and a little dancing flame leaped lightly from the floor. CHAPTER XXX CONCLUSION When La Touche’s senses returned he found himself lying in the open air, with Farol, his other assistant, bending over him. His first thought was for his companion in misfortune. ‘Mallet?’ he whispered feebly. ‘Safe,’ answered Farol. ‘We got him out just in time.’ ‘And Boirac?’ ‘The police are after him.’ La Touche lay still. He was badly shaken. But the fresh air rapidly revived him, and he was soon able to sit up. ‘Where am I?’ he asked presently. ‘Just round the corner from Boirac’s. The firemen are at work.’ ‘Tell me about it.’