"It means two weeks' delay. That is all." Sir Andrew's words were the outcome of his resolve. "All of that," said the commander. "It's curious," he reflected. "It suggests inexperience or--great hurry. What of the offices?" "You mean the drawing office?" Sir Andrew's lips set grimly as he glanced in Ruxton's direction. "Burnt to a cinder and scattered to the four winds." Ruxton emitted a sound like a laugh deprived of all mirth. "The drawings?" The commander's eyes were gravely enquiring. "Not a drawing or tracing saved. Not a single working plan. Complete. Oh, yes, complete. But----" "But?" The concern had deepened in the officer's eyes. Ruxton shrugged. "We have duplicates and triplicates of everything, besides the originals. They must take us for babes or--imbeciles." The officer was relieved. He even smiled. "A good many do that. Well, they have told us their intentions pretty plainly. They'll get no second opportunity unless they've a staff of miracle workers. Shall you be present at the enquiry this afternoon, Sir Andrew?" Sir Andrew signified assent. Then he asked: "What about the inquest?" "To-morrow morning," one of his own staff informed him. "Four deaths. Seven injured." It was the officer again who spoke. "Two of them my men. The others operatives. One of the injured is believed to be a foreigner. If he is fit to give evidence it may be interesting." The talk ceased. There was nothing more to be said. The wrecking was complete. No further talk could serve them. Presently Sir Andrew moved away. His resentment outweighed his regrets. Ruxton followed him. He displayed no emotion at the ruin which had been caused. The loss of life he endeavored to thrust out of his mind. Nor was it difficult, for, in spite of the seriousness of the calamity, it was incomparable with the calamity which had come near to breaking his heart. The officer remained where he was. His duty lay there in the work under his guardianship. He knew well enough he was not likely to escape the official verdict of "slackness." Ruxton followed his father into the waiting car. In a moment they were threading their way through a labyrinth of unkempt buildings, all of which concealed a teeming activity and laboring life. The lanes were narrow, winding and unpaved. The car was forever crossing and recrossing the metal track of a light railway amongst strings of trucks and snorting locomotives. On every hand came the din of moving machinery. Then frequently they were held up by slow-moving horse vehicles.