"Half an hour!" echoed Somerset, dancing with trepidation. "Merciful heavens, in half an hour?" "Dear fellow, why so much excitement?" inquired Zero. "My dynamite is not more dangerous than toffy; had I an only child, I would give it him to play with. You see this brick?" he continued, lifting a cake of the infernal compound from the laboratory-table. "At a touch it should explode, and that with such unconquerable energy as should bestrew the square with ruins. Well, now, behold! I dash it on the floor." Somerset sprang forward, and, with the strength of the very ecstasy of terror, wrested the brick from his possession. "Heavens!" he cried, wiping his brow; and then with more care than ever mother handled her first-born withal, gingerly transported the explosive to the far end of the apartment; the plotter, his arms once more fallen to his side, dispiritedly watching him. "It was entirely harmless," he sighed. "They describe it as burning like tobacco." "In the name of fortune," cried Somerset, "what have I done to you, or what have you done to yourself, that you should persist in this insane behaviour? If not for your own sake, then for mine, let us depart from this doomed house, where I profess I have not the heart to leave you; and then, if you will take my advice, and if your determination be sincere, you will instantly quit this city, where no further occupation can detain you." "Such, dear fellow, was my own design," replied the plotter. "I have, as you observe, no further business here; and once I have packed a little bag, I shall ask you to share a frugal meal, to go with me as far as to the station, and see the last of a broken-hearted man. And yet," he added, looking on the boxes with a lingering regret, "I should have liked to make quite certain. I cannot but suspect my underlings of some mismanagement; it may be fond, but yet I cherish that idea: it may be the weakness of a man of science, but yet," he cried, rising into some energy, "I will never, I cannot if I try, believe that my poor dynamite has had fair usage!" "Five minutes!" said Somerset, glancing with horror at the timepiece. "If you do not instantly buckle to your bag, I leave you." "A few necessaries," returned Zero, "only a few necessaries, dear Somerset, and you behold me ready." He passed into the bedroom, and after an interval which seemed to draw out into eternity for his unfortunate companion, he returned, bearing in his hand an open Gladstone bag. His movements were still horribly deliberate, and his eyes lingered gloatingly on his dear boxes, as he moved to and fro about the drawing-room, gathering a few small trifles. Last of all, he lifted one of the squares of dynamite. "Put that down!" cried Somerset. "If what you say be true, you have no call to load yourself with that ungodly contraband."