But then, suddenly, with terrifying intensity, with an incredible rapidity, a fantastic, unheard-of, appalling thing happened. The very instant the burning match touched the water, the lake caught fire and blazed up fiercely, giving off dense clouds of smoke and sending up huge flickering flames of red and blue that instantly covered the whole surface with a sheet of fire. Fortunately Tom Bob had managed to grip M. Havard by the arm and drag him back from the boat he was just getting into, and both started running breathlessly for the middle of the island, accompanied as they went by the various employés of the _Azaïs_, the manager and a few customers who were still on the premises, all flying headlong before the flames. The sight was fairylike, unforgettable, but tragic to the last degree. The whole lake indeed was a veritable sea of fire, which the eye could not pierce. From this gigantic brazier a sooty smoke went up in swirling eddies, instantly veiling the sky with thick, heavy clouds. The heat was terrific, so intense that the sweat rolled in torrents down the faces of the unfortunates imprisoned on the island. The air indeed was almost unbreathable. All round the party branches kept breaking off the trees and the smaller boughs beginning to flare up, while the shrubs dipping in the water were in turn taking fire. “We are done for!” groaned M. Havard. But Tom Bob preserved his presence of mind. “To the middle of the island!” he shouted; “come this way,”—and he led all his companions to the centre of the little island. Once there, he proceeded to calm their apprehensions. “Keep cool!” he said, “keep cool! If the lake is on fire, there can be only one explanation, that they’ve emptied over the surface barrels of naphtha or petroleum. Egad! Fantômas can’t be far; it’s a miracle we have escaped, Monsieur Havard; I imagine he was only waiting for both of us to be in the boat between the bank and the island to put a light to his naphtha and roast us to death.” “Yes, indeed,” M. Havard agreed, “a minute more and we were dead men.” Tom Bob shook his head gravely. “If only there are no fatalities,” he said. “Look, it strikes me the flames are not so fierce now? Evidently the layer of naphtha cannot have been very thick. Yes, the flames are dropping, but ... but ...”—as he spoke, fearful screams broke out coming from a little further away. M. Havard and the detective looked at each other in consternation. The cries grew louder and louder, and with one impulse the two men dashed to the rescue. They had distinctly heard the words: “Help! help!... Fantômas! Fantômas! Fantômas is here!” While M. Havard and the unlucky Tom Bob were in such imminent peril from the monstrous audacity of the ever elusive brigand, while the lake was taking fire with alarming rapidity, a tragedy had been enacting on its banks.