“You will wait there,” he commanded.
“No,” returned the girl quietly, “I will go with you. You forget I am your sponsor, and,” she added gently, “I am more than that. After this, where you go, I go.”
As she spoke there came from the wharf of the custom-house, lying a mile below them, a flash of flame. It was followed by others, and instantly, like an echo, the guns of the fort replied.
“Shrapnel!” cried Roddy. “They’ve captured the artillery barracks, and we haven’t a moment to lose!”
He threw himself on the levers that moved the slabs of stone and forced them apart. Giving Inez his hand, he ran with her down the steps of the tunnel.
“But why,” cried Inez, “is there more need for haste now than before?”
Roddy could not tell her the assault of the Rojas party on the fortress might lead to a reprisal in the assassination of her father.
“The sound of the cannon,” he answered evasively, “will drown out what we do.”
Roddy was now more familiar with the various windings of the tunnel, and they advanced quickly. Following the circles of light cast by their torches, they moved so rapidly that when they reached the wall both were panting. Roddy held his watch in front of the light and cried out with impatience.
“Ten minutes!” he exclaimed, “and every minute—” He checked himself and turned to the wall. The dynamite, with the cap and fuse attached, was as McKildrick had placed it. For a tamp he scooped up from the surface of the tunnel a handful of clay, and this he packed tightly over the cap, leaving the fuse free. He led Inez back to a safe distance from the wall, and there, with eyes fastened on Roddy’s watch, they waited. The seconds dragged interminably. Neither spoke, and the silence of the tunnel weighed upon them like the silence of a grave. But even buried as they were many feet beneath the ramparts, they could hear above them the reverberations of the cannon.