Looking over the parapet she caught sight of a gaunt figure on the
abutment now strongly illuminated, now in deep shadow according to the
height and strength of the flames and the wayward wind. So fantastic, so
grotesque was this figure, his gesticulations, his waving hands, he
suggested a demon rather than a human being. Now and again he put a
curved hand to his mouth. Doubtless he was shouting but the roar of the
fire and the howling of the mob smothered every sound.
It was Rofflash--his true character revealed, nerve stricken, a coward
at heart. Yet he was in no immediate danger. The fire could not reach
him. The only thing he had to fear was the rising tide should it chance
to wash over the abutment and sweep him off his feet.
But it is always the unexpected that happens. Some receptacle with
inflammable contents which the fire had overlooked--probably it was
stored in one of the upper rooms--exploded with terrific violence. Roof,
rafters, tiles, brickwork, shot into the air and fell in every
direction. Sally with many others was sent prostrate by the shock, but
was uninjured. When she was able to rise and look over the parapet no
one was on the abutment. Jeremy Rofflash had met his fate.
"The Beggar's Opera" continued on its triumphant way. Night after night
the theatre was packed. Night after night Polly was listened to with
increasing delight.
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