"Sorry, but you can't come in. Strict Orders. After hours," the sentry said, when the captain asked to be allowed to pass.
"But it's urgent—life or death. We've got to use your telephone. Or—you call the office. Tell the super there's a bomb in the plant—"
The sentry's jaws gaped, but only for an instant. Down the road inside the plant came a running, bareheaded figure—screaming:
"Let me out! Let me out of here!"
"Halt!" shouted the sentry.
The figure stumbled to a stop at the gate. The light showed the pale, sweating face trembling with fear.
"What's the matter with you?" the sentry asked.
"The metal pots! They're alive! Big, orange bubbles are floating from the cauldrons!"
"Nuts!" said the sentry. "You're drunk."
But as the soldier spoke there was a trembling movement of the ground beneath the feet of the men at the gate. Captain Taylor threw himself on the ground. But there was no blast.