Ella, standing at the door, whispered:
“Hush!”
And without a word Seymour Kennedy, treading tiptoe, slipped within.
The house was familiar to him. He grasped the soft white hand of his well-beloved and, raising it to his lips, kissed it in homage. She was wearing a dainty purple and yellow kimono, her little feet thrust into red morocco Turkish slippers, which were noiseless, and, as she ascended the thickly-carpeted stairs, he followed her without uttering a word.
Up they went, to the top floor. The door which faced them at the head of the stairs she unlocked with a key, and after they were both inside she closed the door and then switched on the light.
The big chemical laboratory, which her father had established in secret in that long attic, presented the same scene as it had when he had visited it before at the invitation of his well-beloved. With such constant demands upon his inventive powers, it was necessary that the Prussian ex-professor should have the place fitted up with all the latest scientific appliances.
“Well, Seymour!” the girl exclaimed at last. “Here you are! What do you think of these?” And, crossing to a side table, she indicated two well-worn attaché-cases in brown leather, each about sixteen inches by eight, and three inches deep.
One of them she opened, revealing a curious mechanism within, part of which was the movement of a cheap American clock. Her tall, good-looking companion, who was a skilled mechanic, examined both these innocent-looking little cases with keen interest, and then exclaimed:
“Ah! I quite understand now! These are no doubt to be used in conjunction with explosives. They run for half an hour only, and then electrical contact is made into the explosive compound.”
“Exactly. See there, that row of tins of lubricating-oil. They are already filled with the high-explosive and in readiness.”