It seemed as if the
very floor on which we stood was giving way.
The show-case, with all its priceless contents, went smashing down
into the cellar below.
The flooring beneath the case had been cut through!
All crowded forward, gazing at the black yawning cavern. A moment
we hesitated, then gingerly craned our necks over the edge.
Down below, three men, covered with linen dusters and their faces
hidden by masks, had knocked the props away from the ceiling of
the cellar, which they had sawed almost through at their leisure,
and the show case had landed eight or ten feet below, shivered
into a thousand bits.
A volley of shots whizzed past us, and another. While one crook
was hastily stuffing the untold wealth of jewels into a burlap
bag, the others had drawn revolvers and were firing up through the
hole in the floor, desperately.
Martin, his detectives, and the rest of us fell back from the edge
of the chasm hastily, to keep out of range of the hail of bullets.
"Look out!" cried someone behind us, before we could recover from
our first surprise and return the fire.
One of the desperadoes had taken a bomb from under his duster,
lighted it, and thrown it up through the hole in the floor.
It sailed up over our heads and landed near our little group on
the floor, the fuse sputtering ominously.
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