Bruce was reproaching himself as he stepped up on the wooden casing which covered the pipes and nozzles inside the power-house. There he stopped and stood quite motionless, looking at Smaltz. Smaltz's face wore a look of keenest interest, as with one shoulder braced against the side of the building, his hands in his pockets, he watched the plant burn up. Down below, Banule had thrown out the switch and the machinery was running away. A rim of fire encircled the commutators. The cold, blue flame of electrical energy was shooting its jagged flashes from every piece of magnetic metal it could reach, while the crackling of the short-circuited wires was like the continuous, rattling reports of a rapid-fire gun. There was something terrifying in the sight of the racing machinery, something awe-inspiring in the spectacle of a great power gone mad. The wind from the round blur that represented the fly-wheel was a gale and in the semi-dusk,--Smaltz had closed the double-doors--the leaping flames and the screech of the red-hot bearings made the place an Inferno. For a moment the amazing, unexpected sight deprived Bruce of the power to move. Then he jumped for the lever and shut down. It was not until the machinery responded that Smaltz turned. His yellow-brown eyes widened until they looked round. He had not counted on anyone's being able to cross the river for fully half an hour. If Smaltz had been the villain of fiction, he would have been a coward as well. But Smaltz was not a coward. It is true he was startled--so startled that his skin turned a curious yellow-green like a half-ripe pear--but he was not afraid. He knew that he was "in for it." He knew that something was going to happen, and quick. That Bruce was sitting on the wooden casing quietly pulling off his heavy boots did not deceive him in the least. It was as still as the tomb in the power-house when Bruce stood up and walked toward Smaltz. Grimy streaks of perspiration showed on his colorless face, from which every drop of blood seemed to have fled, and his black eyes, that shone always with the soft brilliancy of a warm, impulsive nature and an imaginative mind, were glittering and purposeful. Smaltz stood his ground as Bruce advanced. "Why didn't you answer that telephone, Smaltz?" In feigned surprise Smaltz glanced at the box. "I declare--the receiver's dropped off the hook!" Bruce ignored the answer; he did not even look, but stepped closer. "Why didn't you shut down?" Smaltz summoned his impudent grin, but it wavered and faded under Bruce's burning eyes even while he replied in a tone of injured innocence-- "How should I know? The bell didn't ring--Banule hadn't told me to." Bruce paid no attention to the foolish excuse. He demanded again: "Why didn't you shut down, Smaltz?" "I've told you once," was the sullen answer. Bruce turned to the telephone and rang the bell hard. "Hello--hello--hello!" came the frantic reply. "Can you swim, Banule?" "Yes."