Then the pair of us were racing up the stairs madly for the room above, I vaguely wondering if my companion had taken leave of his senses.  Yet of the verity of the peril which he dreaded came speedy confirmation.

At the very moment that my hand touched the knob of the door above, and ere I could open it, the whole fabric of the Abbey Inn was convulsed—­the floor rocked beneath my feet; and there ensued the sound of a deafening explosion from the room below!  An echo, or what sounded like an echo, sharp and staccato, came from the distant hills!

CHAPTER XX

GATTON’S STORY

“It’s no good going in now,” said Gatton, in a weary voice; “in fact it might be dangerous.  We have to consider the possibility of fire, however,” he added.

Voices of sleepers awakened and cries of inquiry sounded now from all over the inn; for naturally the household had been aroused by the tremendous noise of the explosion.  For my own part I was altogether too dazed to conjecture what had happened.  But that Gatton had saved me from some deadly peril I was well convinced.  Stirrings and the noise of footsteps came from an adjoining room, and presently in his night attire Martin appeared, very bemused.

“Mr. Addison,” he began, and stared from me to my companion.

“Let no one leave their rooms,” said Gatton decisively, “until I give them permission.”

“Eh,” began Martin heavily.

“I am a police officer,” added Gatton; “and you will all do as I direct.  Does any one sleep on the same floor as Mr. Addison?”

“No, sir,” replied Martin, who was not yet more than half awake, but who nevertheless had been impressed by the Inspector’s authoritative manner.

Sounds of footsteps from the floor above now became audible, whereupon: 

“Order every one to remain in their rooms!” repeated Gatton.

Martin, raising his voice, obeyed him.

“What are your arrangements in the case of fire?” continued the Inspector.

Several betousled heads were peeping down from the landing above but no one spoke until Martin collected his ideas sufficiently to reply: 

“There’s buckets in the stables—­and there’s the well.  Wilkins sleeps over the stables—­”

“Can you make him hear without going downstairs?”

“I can try,” was the answer.

Martin walked to a window which lighted the landing, and threw it widely open.  Leaning out: 

“Wilkins!” he roared—­“Wilkins!”

“Aye, aye, boss!” came faintly from somewhere below.

“Tell him to stand by with fire-buckets, but not to leave the yard without orders from me,” directed Gatton.

Martin issued these instructions in a voice which must have been audible at Leeways, and then stood scratching his head stupidly.

But indeed of all the bewildered company who gathered that night beneath the roof of the Abbey Inn, I think I was the most nonplused of all, and turning to Gatton: