Mr. Kennedy’s eyebrows rose. “Steele? Did he say his name was Steele?”
“Yes, sir. He was quite excited, sir. Something to do with a discovery of ore, I gathered.” The butler shrugged with an apologetic air. “However, I will do as you say, sir.” He turned to go, and was all but knocked off his feet by the elderly, white-haired tornado that had shot past him.
Upon hearing those two words—“Steele” and “ore”—Mr. Kennedy had not hesitated. He had thrown down his fork, torn his napkin from his knees and leaped from his chair to bound into his bedroom and the telephone on his bedside table. Jenkins was shocked. He had never seen Mr. Kennedy run before—and never, never heard him shout over the telephone.
“Wha-a-at? What’s that, boy? Speak up, Sandy, I can’t hear you. What is that dreadful hammering noise?”
Wham! Wham! Wham!
That dreadful, hammering noise which Mr. Kennedy heard was the sound of a sledge hammer striking the door of the radio shack. Captain West was trying to batter it down.
He had run for a sledge hammer the moment he realized that his shouted commands to open the door were being ignored. Cookie stood a little aside, staring out of frightened eyes as the door jumped under the captain’s powerful, bludgeoning blows.
“Hurry, Sandy,” he whispered feverishly. “Oh, hurry! The lock’s going to give in another minute.”
Sandy had nodded. His own eyes were fastened on the door; his heart seemed to thump in time to Captain West’s hammering; he cradled the telephone as he waited for Mr. Kennedy in an agony of desperation.
It was at this point that Sandy Steele at last heard the familiar voice of Mr. Kennedy come over the line.