“Then take it where the cable crosses the river. Come quick.” He put the receiver back on its hook and stepped to the lever. Smaltz’s eyes opened wide as Bruce shoved it hard. He stared as though he thought Bruce had gone out of his mind. Then the dynamos began to pick up.
“What you goin’ to do?” he shouted above the screech of the belting and the hot bearings.
“You’re going to tell the truth!” The last vestige of Bruce’s self-control vanished. His voice, which had been nearly a whisper, was like the sudden roar of a deep-hurt bear. His dark face was distorted to ugliness with rage. He rushed Smaltz—with his head down—and Smaltz staggered with the shock. Then they grappled and went down. Once more it was pandemonium in the power-house with the screeching of the red hot bearings and the glare of the crackling blue flames that meant the final and complete destruction of the plant. Over and over the grimy, grease-soaked floor of the power-house they rolled and fought. Brutally, in utter savagery, Bruce ground Smaltz’s face into the rough planks littered with nails and sharp-copper filings, whenever he could—dragging him, shoving him, working him each second a little closer to the machinery with the frenzy of haste. He had not yet recovered from his run but Smaltz was no match for his great strength.
A glimmer of Bruce’s purpose came to Smaltz at last.
“What—you tryin’—to do?” he panted.
Bruce panted back:
“I’m going to kill you! Do you hear?” His eyes were bloodshot, more than ever he looked like some battle-crazed grizzly seeing his victim through a blur or rage and pain. “If I can—throw you—across those commutators—before the fireworks stop—I’m goin’ to give you fifteen hundred volts!”
A wild fright came in Smaltz’s eyes.
“Let me up!” he begged.