He lighted a candle and started in the drift. She came right behind him without the least hesitation. The tunnel was damp, and at places they were forced to crawl through pools of water. Still, she did not complain.
“Nervy little woman, all right,” Nash muttered to himself.
Finally they emerged into the chamber, and both stood erect. He held the candle high above his head, so that she could see. The walls, hewn roughly from solid rock, glistened with moisture; the floor was muddy.
Miss Breen held her hands together and shivered. “Ugh! Are there any bats in here?” she asked.
“Hardly.”
In the glow of the candle the girl’s face shone pale and tense.
“The dynamite is under us,” Nash explained. “And over in the corner are half a hundred boxes of the same stuff, that will produce a second explosion.”
She followed him while he made a careful survey of the whole chamber. Everything seemed to be in excellent condition.
“You’re not—not forgetting the time, are you?” she broke out suddenly.
“I should say not!” He took out his watch, and held the candle lower. “It’s just a quarter to seven. We’ve an hour and fifteen minutes yet before the fireworks come off.”