"We can't get any sort of answer, and there's something wrong." Twice and thrice they threw their united weights against it until at last with a sharp snap the lock broke, and they crowded into the narrow passage.

The inner door was ajar, and the laboratory lay before them.
In the centre was an enormous heap of fluffy grey ash, reaching up half-way to the ceiling.

Beside it was another heap, much smaller, of some brilliant scintillating dust, which shimmered brightly in the rays of the electric light.

All round was a bewildering chaos of broken jars, shattered bottles, cracked machinery, and tangled wires, all bent and draggled.

And there in the midst of this universal ruin, leaning back in his chair with his hands clasped upon his lap, and the easy pose of one who rests after hard work safely carried through, sat Raffles Haw, the master of the house, and the richest of mankind, with the pallor of death upon his face.