Then I
smelt it and put my tongue to it. After that I sat down to think.
I hadn't been a mining engineer for nothing, and I knew lentonite
when I saw it.
With one of these bricks I could blow the house to smithereens.
I had used the stuff in Rhodesia and knew its power. But the
trouble was that my knowledge wasn't exact. I had forgotten the
proper charge and the right way of preparing it, and I wasn't sure
about the timing. I had only a vague notion, too, as to its power,
for though I had used it I had not handled it with my own fingers.
But it was a chance, the only possible chance. It was a mighty
risk, but against it was an absolute black certainty. If I used it the
odds were, as I reckoned, about five to one in favour of my
blowing myself into the tree-tops; but if I didn't I should very
likely be occupying a six-foot hole in the garden by the evening.
That was the way I had to look at it. The prospect was pretty dark
either way, but anyhow there was a chance, both for myself and for
my country.
The remembrance of little Scudder decided me. It was about the
beastliest moment of my life, for I'm no good at these cold-blooded
resolutions. Still I managed to rake up the pluck to set my teeth
and choke back the horrid doubts that flooded in on me. I simply
shut off my mind and pretended I was doing an experiment as
simple as Guy Fawkes fireworks.
Pages:
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109