At the first
corner he heard a second explosion, further away and to the east,
but apparently no fire followed it. That, he learned later, was
the City Club, founded by Anthony Cardew years before.
The Denslow Bank was burning. The facade had been shattered and
from the interior already poured a steady flow of flame and smoke.
He stood among the crowd, while the engines throbbed and the great
fire hose lay along the streets, and watched the little upper
room where the precious records of the Committee were burning
brightly. The front wall gone, the small office stood open to the
world, a bright and shameless thing, flaunting its nakedness to
the crowd below.
He wondered why Providence should so play into the hands of the
enemy.
After a time he happened on Pink Denslow, wandering alone on the
outskirts of the crowd.
"Just about kill the governor, this," said Pink, heavily. "Don't
suppose the watchmen got out, either. Not that they'd care," he
added, savagely.
"How about the vaults? I suppose they are fireproof?"
"Yes. Do you realize that every record we've got has gone? D'you
suppose those fellows knew about them?"
Willy Cameron had been asking himself the same question.
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