The match had burnt down very near his fingers, but as he dropped it he caught sight of the switch. Without troubling to light another match he groped his way towards it and turned it on. There was a flash and a sharp report, but the cellar remained in complete darkness. Mr. Martin, with a gasp, leapt for the door in sudden panic. Someone hidden in the cellar must have fired at him. Then, after a moment, the absurdity of the idea forced itself upon him. The report had not been nearly loud enough for a pistol, and the cellar was far too small to conceal anybody. With a short laugh, but with trembling fingers, he felt for his matchbox and struck a light.

Then at once he saw what had happened. The globe had burst as he turned on the current, and only the butt remained in the holder. He turned to look at the switch, and then for the first time he noticed that something white was hanging from it by a string. He bent down and held his match close to it. It was a white counter, bearing the figure IV in red ink.