Darrow laughed.
"No, I had to come back to see how Eldridge is getting on." He cast a glance at the scientist. "How goes it, old socks?" he inquired.
The man's manner, the tone of his voice, seemed as much out of place in this atmosphere of solemnity as a penny whistle in a death chamber. Darrow refused to notice the general attitude of disapproval, but planted himself in front of Eldridge.
"All in?" he challenged. "Or do you still cherish any delusions that you will get your man inside of"—he looked at his watch—"eleven minutes?"
A visible stir ran through the room at these words. "Eleven minutes!" murmured Lyons, and held his watch to his ear. "It has stopped," he said aloud. "It seems, gentlemen, that the only possible hope for us lies in the doubt as to whether or not this Unknown will carry out this threat."
"He's a first-rate hand to carry out threats," observed Darrow.
"We have done our best," said Lyons calmly. "Let us compose ourselves to meet everything—or nothing—as the fates may have decided."
"That's all right," agreed Darrow, with unabated cheerfulness. "But
Eldridge and I had a little agreement, or bet. He bragged he'd get this
Monsieur X before I did. I'd like to know how he feels about his end of
it. Give it up?"
Eldridge looked at him rebukingly.
"I have failed," he acknowledged formally, "from lack of time to carry out my investigation."