"He didn't come right out and say so," Paul rapidly explained, "but he dropped hints that a blind man could see. I met him on a train yesterday—a Russian—a fanatic—proud of what he's done—!
"As nearly as I can make it out, they have got a boat leaning against the dam with five hundred pounds of TNT in it—or hanging under it—I don't know which—
"There is a battery in the boat, and clockwork to set the whole thing off at ten o'clock tonight. He didn't come right out and say so, you understand, and I may be making a fool of myself. But if I am—God knows, it won't be the first time … Anyhow we'll soon know."
It was a circuitous road that led to the dam. The rain was pouring again, the streets deserted. Once they were held up at a railroad crossing….
The clock in the car pointed at five minutes to ten when their headlights finally fell upon the bridge. As they drew nearer they could hear nothing in the darkness but the thunder of the water. The bridge was a low one and only twenty yards up the stream from the falls; but though they strained their eyes to the uttermost they couldn't see as far as the dam.
"I'll turn one of the headlights," said Archey, "and we'll drive over slow."
The lamp, turned at an angle, swept over the edge of the dam like a searchlight. Half way over the bridge the car stopped. They had found what they were looking for.
"Why doesn't it go over?" shouted Archey, jumping out.
"Anchored to a tree up the bend, I guess," Paul shouted back. "They must have played her down the stream after dark."
Nearly over the dam was a boat painted black and covered with tarpaulin.