disciple."

He felt in his overcoat pocket and drew out the small, hard pellet. He
gripped it in his fingers, stood as nearly as possible underneath the spot
from which he had been projected, coolly swung his arm back, and flung the
black pebble against the sliding door. The explosion which followed shook
the very ground under his feet. The walls cracked about him. Blue fire
seemed to be playing around the blackness. He jumped on one side, barely
in time to escape a shower of bricks. For minutes afterwards everything
around him seemed to rock. He struck another match. The whole of the roof
of the place was gone. By building a few bricks together, he was easily
able to climb high enough to swing himself on to the fragments of the
hallway. Even as he accomplished this, the door was thrown open and a
crowd of people rushed in. Sanford Quest emerged, dusty but unhurt, and
touched a constable on his arm.

"Arrest me," he ordered. "I am Sanford Quest. I must be taken at once to
headquarters."

"That so, Mr. Quest? Stand on one side, you loafers," the man ordered,
pushing his way out.

"We'll have a taxicab," Quest decided.

"Is there any one else in the house?" the policeman asked.

"Not a soul," Quest answered.

They found a cab without much difficulty. It was five o'clock when they
reached the central police-station. Inspector French happened to be just