"Now what about this accident to-day?" went on Job.
"Well, as I said, it's the third this week. All of them seemed to be premature blasts. But I've sent for some of the fuses used. I'm going to get at the bottom of this. Here is Sullivan with them now. Come in, Tim," he called, as the Irishman knocked at the door.
"Are they the fuses used in the blasts?" Walter asked.
"They are, sor. An' they mostly burn five minutes, which is plenty of time fer all th' min t' git out of danger. Only this time th' fuse didn't seem to burn more than a minute, an' I lit it meself."
"Let's see how long they burn now," suggested Job.
One of the longer fuses was lighted. It spluttered and smoked, while the contractors timed it with their watches.
"Four minutes!" exclaimed Job. "That's queer, and they're the regular ten minute length. I wonder what this means.
He took up another fuse, and examined it closely.
"Why!" he cried. "These aren't our fuses at all. They're another make, and much more rapid in burning. No wonder you've been having premature blasts. They go off in about half the time they should."
"I can't understhand thot!" said Tim, thoughtfully. "I keep all the fuses locked up, and only take thim out when I need thim."