There's a mill blown right over on its side in the next field, and the man in charge of it lying dead.

This poor chap's bad enough." Gerald, on all fours, had crept back into the compartment.

The bottle of wine was smashed into atoms.

He came out, dragging the small dressing-case which his companion had kept on the table before him.

One side of it was dented in, but the lock, which was of great strength, still held.
"Perhaps there's a flask somewhere in this dressing-case," Gerald said.
"Lend me a knife." Strong though it had been, the lock was already almost torn out from its foundation.