“Whe—e—w!”
“Yes. What on earth possessed him? But then that’s none of our affairs. If he wants to run the risk of losing his life—that’s his business, not mine.”
“Well, but,” and the first voice had a timid note, “that’s going too far—we were only to blow up the mill—not to kill anybody.”
“Can’t help that. Fifteen minutes more, if everything works well, and old man Greenough’s day is over. Jim’s just about lighting the fuse, I reckon, now. It’s an awful long one, but the fire’ll creep round there in time.”
“What about the police?”
“He’s all right. We’ve fixed him.”
The voices grew fainter and ceased altogether, only the dull sound of the men’s footsteps reaching her as they passed down the hill away from the grounds.
Salome stood an instant, rooted to the spot. What was this horrible thing she had heard?
The factory to be blown up?
She must go for help.