Dully, Wilhelm read over the papers. He could not see how they would be of any value, for they were not at all specific in their statements, so far as any definite invention was concerned.
They applied to all Silas Harshaw’s labors. They were virtually an option that had expired with Harshaw’s death.
Arthur Wilhelm had brought the small chess set with him. He laid it on the desk with the papers. The wrapped box from the tobacconist was in plain view.
Wilhelm’s eyes glowed in anticipation. Fresh cigars had arrived. One would be enjoyable right now.
He picked up the box and undid the paper wrapping. He held the uncovered cigar box between his hands, admiring it with the eye of a connoisseur.
Setting the box on the desk, Wilhelm, as was his custom, removed a knife from his vest pocket. Opening the blade, he carefully pried the lid of the cigar box.
Both hands lifted the top. Wilhelm was staring toward the box, a glowing smile upon his countenance. The smile vanished. Wild concern replaced it.
Instead of the cigars that he had expected, the box contained a round-shaped metal object.
Its purpose dawned on Arthur Wilhelm. The object was a bomb! The apparatus on the top was a detonator! This box had been sent to blow him into eternity.
Somehow — almost miraculously — the hammer had fallen, or had not been set.