As he closed the door, a dark figure appeared, slipped up to the door, there was a click, a second, and a third, and the door stood securely fastened with three stout padlocks.  In another moment Rosenblatt’s livid face appeared at the little square window which overlooked the ravine.

At the same instant, upon the opposite side of the ravine, appeared Brown, riding down the slope like a madman, and shouting at the top of his voice, “French!  French!  Kalman!  For God’s sake, come here!”

Out of the cave rushed the two men.  As they appeared Brown stood waving his hands wildly.  “Come here!  Come, for God’s sake!  Come!” His eyes fell upon the blazing train.  “Run! run!” he shouted, “for your lives!  Run!”

He dashed toward the blazing rags and trampled them under his feet.  But the fire had reached the powder.  There was a quick hissing sound of a burning fuse, and then a great puff.  Brown threw himself on his face and waited, but there was nothing more.  His two friends rushed to him and lifted him up.

“What, in Heaven’s name, is it, Brown?” cried French.

“Come away!” gasped Brown, stumbling down the ravine and dragging them with him.

Meantime, the whole hillside was in flames.  In the clear light of the blazing trees the Sergeant was seen riding his splendid horse at a hard gallop.  Soon after his appearing came Portnoff.

“What does all this mean?” said French, looking around from one to the other with a dazed face.

Before they could answer, a voice clear and sonorous drew their eyes across the ravine towards Rosenblatt’s cabin.  At a little distance from the cabin they could distinguish the figure of a man outlined in the lurid light of the leaping flames.  He was speaking to Rosenblatt, whose head could be seen thrust far out of the window.

“Who is that man?” cried the Sergeant.

“Mother of God!” said old Portnoff in a low voice. 
“It is Malkarski.  Listen.”

“Rosenblatt,” cried the old man in the Russian tongue, “I have something to say to you.  Those bags of gunpowder, that dynamite with which you were to destroy two innocent men, are now piled under your cabin, and this train at my feet will fire them.”

With a shriek Rosenblatt disappeared, and they could hear him battering at the door.  Old Malkarski laughed a wild, unearthly laugh.

“Rosenblatt,” he cried again, “the door is securely fastened!  Three stout locks will hold it closed.”

The wretched man thrust his head far out of the window, shrieking, “Help!  Help!  Murder!  Help!”

“Listen, you dog!” cried Malkarski, his voice ringing down through the ravine, “your doom has come at last.  All your crimes, your treacheries, your bloody cruelties are now to be visited upon you.  Ha! scream! pray! but no power in earth can save you.  Aha! for this joy I have waited long!  See, I now light this train.  In one moment you will be in hell.”