“Might I ask what it is?” murmured Hugh politely from the neighbourhood of the door.
“Sure thing, Captain,” returned the detective, carefully pouring some of the liquid into the soap dam. “This is what I told you I’d got—gelignite: or, as the boys call it, the oil. It runs right round the cracks of the door inside the soap.” He added a little more, and carefully replaced the stopper in the bottle. “Now a detonator and a bit of fuse, and I guess we’ll leave the room.”
“It reminds one of those dreadful barbarians the Sappers, trying to blow up things,” remarked Toby, stepping with some agility into the garden; and a moment or two later the American joined them.
“It may be necessary to do it again,” he announced, and as he spoke the sound of a dull explosion came from inside the house. “On the other hand,” he continued, going back into the room and quietly pulling the safe door open, “it may not. There’s your book, Captain.”
He calmly relit his cigar as if safe opening was the most normal undertaking, and Drummond lifted out the heavy ledger and placed it on the table.
“Go out in relays, boys,” he said to the group of men by the door, “and get your breakfasts. I’m going to be busy for a bit.”
He sat down at the table and began to turn the pages. The American was amusing himself with the faked Chinese cabinet; Toby and Peter sprawled in two chairs, unashamedly snoring. And after a while the detective put down the cabinet, and coming over, sat at Drummond’s side.
Every page contained an entry—sometimes half a dozen—of the same type, and as the immensity of the project dawned on the two men their faces grew serious.
“I told you he was a big man, Captain,” remarked the American, leaning back in his chair and looking at the open book through half-closed eyes.
“One can only hope to Heaven that we’re in time,” returned Hugh. “Damn it, man,” he exploded, “surely the police must know of this!”