“What I’ll do to you, sweet Captain,” the General murmured, on the roof.
“That leaves Adeler. I’ll have to devise some way to fix him—we might just suggest to Bat that he’d better disappear—but I wouldn’t like to kill any one,” Mr. Jolls spoke very sentimentally.
“Oh, no,” said Captain Welch, sarcastically, “I know how tender-hearted you are. But do what you please—so long as I get the hundred and fifty thou. and can get out of the country.”
“Arrangements look all right to you?” Jolls asked.
“Yes,” said Welch.
“Well, then, let’s go down and have a look at young Griffin. You remember to see that not a shred of the tetrahedral is left. (Say, call the guards, will you, now?) Run a fuse into its fuel tank or just sprinkle kerosene over—”
While Jolls was thus giving final directions, his thugs were summoned; and then, very suddenly, there was “something doing.”
The General stood straight up, and lighted, not one signal-match, but a whole box, flinging them flaming up into the air. A moment before he had seemed a rather puffy, quiet old man, but now he was changed into a red-hot fighting devil. He tore away at the thatch, with his revolver-butt.
Poodle caught up great handfuls of the old straw, too, and as the General dropped through on the astounded seven men below, Poodle dropped with him, revolver in hand.
As he landed on the floor of the cabin, the General toppled over and sank to his knees. He had turned an ankle. But, kneeling, he covered the Captain, just as the Captain drew a revolver of his own. For a second no one moved; Poodle, Jolls, the guards at the door, all stood with held breath, while the General on his knees and the Captain standing covered each other with their guns. Then Jolls picked up a chair and swung it high over the General’s head, behind.