“Stop that snivelling,” finally commanded the Major.
“Oh, oh, oh!” cried the prisoner. “I shall not go to the electric chair! I shall turn state’s evidence. I shall tell all!”
“You can commence right off then,” said the detective, and turning to Bill, asked, “Where is your brother?”
“Here!” said Frank from the hall, where he too had been a witness to the encounter.
“You know shorthand, don’t you? Take down whatever he says.”
Frank whipped out a notebook and pencil, and Zip, staring at his captor, asked with chattering teeth, “What do you want me to say?”
“Tell all about everything!”
“Then shall I go free?” begged the man.
“I will do all I can for you,” the Major promised. “Go on!”
“We made it here ... the dynamite .. and those infernal machines that went through the mails. They were an invention of Mr. De Lorme’s.” He glanced shudderingly at the dead man. “They were very powerful. One would blow a house up easily. We made them all. The cases were cylinders of brass, and the top was screwed on. They never failed unless they were wet. Water spoiled them. We could never invent a top that could be screwed on easily enough not to send the blast off and that yet was tight enough so water would not enter. Otherwise they were perfect.