The younger Pulsifer's next move was to open a cupboard in one corner of the room and produce a short length of candle. He eyed this critically and then produced a silver match-box. A tense silence hung over the room, as the flabby-faced Pulsifer moved about making these preparations. Both Mr. Varian and Ned eyed him with close attention. They felt that somehow or other, incomprehensible as these preparations were, that they boded no good to themselves. The younger Pulsifer lit the candle and then turned to the two captives with a smile. "This candle will burn, roughly speaking, for five minutes," he said. "I am going to place it in this barrel of powder. The stuff is not as powerful as Chaosite, but it will serve the purpose," he added, with a side glance at the inventor. As he spoke, the wretch ripped off the wooden heading of the barrel, which had already been loosened, and placed the candle upright on its contents. This done, he once more turned to the inventor. "_Now_, will you tell us where those blueprints are, and give us an order for them?" he snarled. "Not in the longest day you ever lived," replied the inventor firmly. "Good for you," shouted Ned; "if we are to go to the bottom we'll go down with colors flying, Mr. Varian." "That's right, my boy; spoken like a true jackie of Uncle Sam," said the inventor approvingly. "Very fine, heroic and melodramatic," sneered Dave Pulsifer, "but think a moment, Henry Varian. That candle is getting shorter. In a few seconds we shall withdraw, not wishing to be present at the final act of the tragedy. Think of your wife and children----" This time the inventor groaned, but an instant later recovered himself. "I would rather leave them the memory of a loyal citizen and American, than give them the companionship of a coward and a traitor," he replied. "More heroics; really, Varian, if you were going to live, you might tackle a melodrama with good success. Come on, boys. Two minutes of time are up. In three minutes more this place and those in it will be blown to pieces. Good-night and--good-by, Varian, and you too, you spying, sneaking, informing cub. If you relent, Varian, shout loud, and we shall hear you." With this bitter fling at the Dreadnought Boy, the Pulsifers and their evil companions withdrew, Hank Harkins pausing at the door to remark: "I guess I'm on top now, Ned Strong." Ned disdained to reply, but, instead, as the door closed behind the men who had planned such a refinement of cruelty, he fixed his eyes on the candle in the barrel. Pulsifer had taken the lamp when he and the others withdrew. The light of the waxen illuminant, that was rapidly growing shorter and nearer to the powder, was the only radiance in the room. "In three minutes," Pulsifer had said. Ned's eyes regarded the flickering candle with a look of despair. It grew lower and flickered. One more such wavering of its steady flame and the end must come. CHAPTER XXVI. A BLUFF CALLED.