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“There!” he sighed as he turned from the desk. “If Johnny Thompson doesn’t make that out right away he won’t be coming up to my expectations. And if any of these blacks and browns and whites that infest this waterfront can read it, I take off my hat to ’em.”
Turning about, he slung the strap of his kit bag across his shoulder and leaving the cabin, disappeared into the gathering night and the jungle.
Some hours later he might have been found crouching close to the side of a bamboo hut at the heart of the jungle.
His hands trembled as he unwrapped a water-proof package. They trembled still more as he poured a gray powder from the package to a narrow V shaped piece of iron. A little of the powder was spilled over the side and, sinking into the deep bed of tropical moss, was lost forever.
“Won’t do,” he told himself, stiffening his shoulders. “I’ve got to get hold of myself. If I don’t keep cool I’ll make a mess of it and like as not get caught in the bargain.
“Caught by those Spaniards in the heart of the jungle!” He shuddered at the thought. “Caught. And what then?” He dared not think.
“No!” His resolve was strong. “They shall not get me, and I shall succeed. I must!” His face grew tense.
At that he went ahead with his task. Having spread the gray powder evenly along the iron trough, he ran a small black fuse half through it, then gave the fuse five turns about it. When he had finished, the lower end of the fuse hung some six inches below the trough.
“There!” he sighed.