Finally they emerged into the chamber, and both stood erect. He held the candle high above his head, so that she could see. The walls, hewn roughly from solid rock, glistened with moisture; the floor was muddy. Miss Breen held her hands together and shivered. “Ugh! Are there any bats in here?” she asked. “Hardly.” In the glow of the candle the girl’s face shone pale and tense. “The dynamite is under us,” Nash explained. “And over in the corner are half a hundred boxes of the same stuff, that will produce a second explosion.” She followed him while he made a careful survey of the whole chamber. Everything seemed to be in excellent condition. “You’re not--not forgetting the time, are you?” she broke out suddenly. “I should say not!” He took out his watch, and held the candle lower. “It’s just a quarter to seven. We’ve an hour and fifteen minutes yet before the fireworks come off.” “Where are you going to watch it from?” “I’ve a little place picked out,” he answered, and laughed. “About half a mile from here. Would you like a reserved seat?” She nodded readily. “Of course. Now that I’ve seen the mechanism of the thing, I won’t be happy until I see the explosion.” “Good for you! I’m really as much excited over the affair as you are. Ready to leave now?” “I guess so. Is there anything more to see?” “Not a thing. Wait while I light another candle. It’ll make it easier for us to----” He stopped short, the match he had struck burning down to his fingers. He scarcely felt the pain. A faint rumbling had come to his ears--the sound of falling rock. “What was that?” Miss Breen asked sharply, nervously, her voice echoing in the big, gloom-filled room. “Why--nothing much,” Nash replied reassuringly, although his heart had started throbbing at a greater speed. “That is--I suppose it was merely some loose earth falling in the tunnel. It often does that. But we’ll soon see. Follow close now.” He lighted the second candle, handing the girl the first one. They came to the beginning of the tunnel. Just as he had feared, some loose rock had fallen down, blocking the entrance. “You take both candles, Miss Breen,” he commanded quietly. “I’ll have to use my hands and open the drift.” He attempted to laugh at his remark. “It’ll only take--take a second.” He jerked off his coat and dropped it to the muddy floor. Miss Breen held both candles behind him as he began his attack upon the rock. At first, it came away readily enough; then, of a sudden, larger, firmly wedged chunks met his torn fingers. Frantically, hopefully he dug. The jagged edges of the granite ripped his fingers and wrists. But the pain did not compare with the agony that steadily increased within his brain. The sweat began to pour down his white face; his breath came in choking gasps as he rolled rock after rock behind him.