Ned cast his eyes despairingly this way and that, in the hope of spying something that might promise even a faint hope of salvation. "Ned," it was the inventor's voice; but it sounded faint and far off, "shall I call out?" "And betray your trust--no, sir!" "Thank you; I thought you would say that. There is no chance of our getting away?" "Not a loophole that I can see, sir." "So be it. The explosion must come in a few seconds now, and all will be over." The inventor bowed his head. Ned's brain worked as it had never worked before, but, think as he would, he could not contrive any avenue of escape. "If only I could work these ropes loose; if only they'd left the lamp--I'd have risked knocking it over and burning them off. If only----" The boy came to a sudden stop. On the floor by the table he had espied a small, gleaming point of fire--the burning stub of a cigar, carelessly thrown aside by one of the Pulsifers. They smoked only the best of cigars and the weed burned red and strong. To Ned its spark rekindled hope. That tiny glow meant perhaps life and freedom. Without an instant's delay, he threw himself on the floor, for, bound as he was, he could not bend or move. Otherwise he would have taken a chance on burning through his thongs at the candle in the powder keg. The Dreadnought Boy rolled himself toward the burning cigar butt. Mr. Varian watched him wonderingly, but made no comment. He realized that the boy had found what he thought was a way of escape. Ned placed his mouth alongside the cigar, and after some difficulty got it between his teeth. He took a few sharp puffs, as he had seen smokers do, although the rank taste of the tobacco sickened him. It was Ned's first and last smoke. With the end of the cigar now blazing redly, he was ready for the next step. Dropping the "weed," he wriggled along the floor till he had brought his bound wrists up to the red end. Then he pressed the rope down on the glowing tobacco, with a silent prayer that he might be in time. A smell of burning rope filled the air. A second later Ned Strong, his hands free, uttered a low cry of triumph. He had won the first step of the desperate fight for liberty. Rapidly, with his freed hands, he felt in his pockets. His captors had forgotten--or, as was more probable, had not deemed it worth while--to search him. His jackknife was in his pocket. To sever his leg bonds was the work of two quick slashes. In his excitement the pain of his leg was forgotten. All that the Dreadnought Boy knew was that he had a fighting chance. Hastily he stepped up to the powder barrel and prepared to pluck out the candle. This was risky work. Not only might the Pulsifers or some of their gang be on the lookout, but he might, in his haste, spill a spark which would blow both himself and the inventor sky high. As he reached the side of the keg, however, Ned's first utterance was a gasp of surprise and then a low laugh. "Bluffed!"