'Conf—!' he exclaimed, dropping it sharply. 'It's hot. What in the name of—'
He kicked the object out of the lift on to the tessellated floor of a passage which led to the Fish and Game Department.
'I bet you I can hold it,' said Simon boastfully.
And, at the expense of his fingers, he picked it up, and successfully carried it into the Fish and Game Department, where a solitary light (which burnt night and day) threw a dim radiance over vast surfaces of white marble dominated by silver taps. The fish and game were below in the refrigerators. Simon let the cylinder fall on to a slab; Albert turned a tap, and immediately the cylinder was surrounded by clouds of steam. The phenomenon was like some alchemical and mysterious operation. And the steam, as it rose and spread abroad in the immense, pale interior, might have been the fumes of a fatal philtre distilled by a mediæval sorcerer.
'I hope it won't blow up!' Simon ejaculated.
'Not it!' said Albert. 'Let's have a look at it now.'
Albert had a mechanical bent, and, with the aid of a tool, he soon discovered that the cylinder was divided into two parts. In the lower part was burning charcoal. In the upper, carefully closed, was paraffin. The division between the two compartments consisted of some sort of soldering lead, which the heat of the charcoal had gradually been melting.
'So when this stuff had melted,' he explained to Simon, 'the paraffin would run into the charcoal, and there would be a magnificent flare-up.'
They looked at one another, amazed, astounded, speechless.
And each knew that on the tip of the other's tongue, unuttered, was the word 'Ravengar.'