"Close up the cordon," he went on, "and all men who are armed follow me."
He raced up the garden path, but it was not toward the Secret House that he directed his steps; he made a detour through a little plantation to the power house.
A man stood at the door, a grimy-faced foreign workman who scowled at the intruders. He tried to pull the sliding doors to their place, but Ela caught the blue-coated man under the jaw and sent him sprawling into the interior.
In an instant the detective was inside, confronting more scowling workmen. A tall, good-looking man of middle age, evidently a decent artisan, was in control, and he came forward, a spanner in his hand, to repel the intruders.
But the pistol Ela carried was eloquent of his earnestness.
"Stand back," he said. "Are you in charge?"
The detective spoke Italian fluently.
"What does this mean, signor?" asked the foreman.
"It means that I give you three minutes to stop the dynamo."