“Seize that man!” cried Mr. Raynor, who was in the lead. He pointed to the strange young man whose fingers were already pressing the key downward.
“Betrayed!” shrieked Alverado as a revolver was knocked upward out of his hand.
The police, taking no chances after this, sprang forward toward the man at the key with leveled weapons.
“Surrender!” they called out.
“Not till I’ve blown Uncle Sam’s work to Kingdom Come!” cried the wretch with a hideous laugh.
His fingers pressed the key. But no earth-shaking explosion followed. The tons of dynamite that had been cunningly concealed in a spill-way half a mile off did not explode. The Gatun Dam was not hoisted skyward and the work of years ruined.
There was only a feeble “click,” echoed by two more as the handcuffs were snapped on Alverado and Estrada.
Mr. Raynor fairly embraced Merritt and the rest crowded round him.
“If it hadn’t been for you, my boy, and your presence of mind in guessing what that wire was you stumbled across and cutting it, the dam might have been blown up in accordance with this wretch’s desires,” he declared, and then, as the miscreant, who had in vain tried to send the fatal spark to the dynamite, was made a prisoner, Mr. Raynor raised his voice:
“Three cheers for the Boy Scouts!” he cried, “and in particular for Merritt Crawford of the Eagles. Had it not been for his quick wits in guessing that a plot was on foot when he saw that wretch yonder at the Gatun station, this might have been a black night for Uncle Sam and the Panama Canal.”