"It's all in the motors," confidently asserted the pusher, "and I'll have the kinks out of them in a day or two."
The man at the table across the way had completed his task, shoved the paper and pencil into his pocket, and was placidly puffing a huge cigar.
His red-topped companion stamped into the room, returning from some excursion in the city, but the smoker did not pass a word of greeting, though the other idlers filled in with noisy welcome.
It was not until the room had been vacated by all but themselves that the curiously assorted pair put their heads together.
"Ricker showed you where the ammunition was stored?"
The red-topped nodded.
"You arranged for the plans with Westrich?"
Again the nod of assent, but this time with softly spoken supplement:
"All good, but there is no chance of us getting to the river now. It's lined with a wall of steel, and even a rat could not pass, day or night, without a triple stamp of authority on its back. And let me tell you, if we light the match for that explosion without an outlet, all the information we will carry will be to the next world."
"If we cannot get through the wall of steel you mention there might be a way of going over it."