The first of the two candles burned down, and Miss Breen dropped it to the floor. The other one was half gone.
“Careful—of the light,” he said, wondering as he said it why he had thought of such a thing. “I haven’t any more matches.”
The minutes ticked away. The water dripped steadily from the roof, splashing on his hands. Fascinated, he stared at the sickly yellow flame that pulsated atop the remaining candle.
Then, with a quickening of his pulse, he jerked himself erect.
“Do you see how that candle burns?” he burst out, his voice ringing strongly. “It wouldn’t last so long if there wasn’t a lot of air.” He sniffed critically. “And it’s fresh and clean, too! Why didn’t I think of it before?”
A new color sprang to the girl’s cheeks as Nash finished. She seemed to sense a triumphant note in his steady voice.
“Here, Miss Breen!” he exclaimed. “Follow me with that candle! Hurry now!”
He led the way to the distant corner, where the cases of dynamite were stacked. Without a word of explanation, he began to pull them down recklessly. Finally he gave a shout.
“An air vent!” he cried. “I thought so. The boys told me something about this crevice—but I didn’t pay any attention at the time. Come along, Miss Breen! We’ll cheat this explosion yet.”
The hole, or, rather, a crevice, ran up at an angle, and was barely wide enough for the passage of a body. Nash took the candle and forced the girl in before him. They crawled slowly and painfully ahead.