A powerful electric bulb swung from a stake driven into the earthen roof, making the tunnel almost as light as day. Right up against the ultimate wall was a thing of shining metal on a wheeled truck. The power cables connected with two large terminals on its outer casing, and over it hovered a wizened man with a rag and an oilcan. It thrummed and thudded with the quiet-efficiency of its compressed strength, and from its stern a stream of earth poured down an iron channel into the waiting baskets. Other men, stripped to the waist and sweating, snatched away the baskets as they were filled and rushed them away. From time to time the engineer slewed the truck round so that the machine attacked a fresh area, and once he adjusted a winch that raised it bodily on the truck to burrow at the height of the passage. Surcon tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned drawing a greasy hand across his forehead. "It gives no trouble?" he asked in German, and the man shook his head. "_Nein, Herr._" "The dynamo runs well?" "_Recht wohl, Herr._" "_Sehr gut!_" Accompanied by Torino, he retraced his steps laboriously, for the tunnel had a distinct upward gradient from the point where the engine was working. He was glad to return to the comparative freshness of the hall, for the atmosphere below was close and almost insufferable. They entered a room at the back of the house which had once been a beautiful dining-room. Now the polished mahogany table was scarred and stained, and the remains of a meal were congealing on the chipped plates. A pack of cards was spread on the seat of one chair, and a dozen empty beer bottles stood by the wall. With a gesture of distaste Surcon swept the debris from one end of the table, dusted a chair with his handkerchief, and sat down delicately. His companion followed suit without these precautions. "Where are the others?" asked Ezra. "They sleep upstairs, _signor_. In an hour they relieve those who are working now." "There is enough room for the earth?" "Barely, _signor_. Much will have to be spread on the floor of the tunnel and in the cellars. A little will go in the upstairs room where the relief are resting." They spoke in Italian, for Mr. Surcon was a linguist. He took out a bulging wallet and counted out a large sum, and passed the notes across the table. "There is the pay," he said, "and there is a hundred per cent. bonus for finishing so soon. You will go from here to the other foremen, and tell them to promise their men the same if they complete their work at the time I have ordered." "_Grazie, signor--subito._" "When they finish, they will return to headquarters. Only two need remain--yourself and one other. It is understood?" "_Perfettamento._"