Minute after minute sped by, as the line burned by the blow-pipe
cut around the lock. It seemed hours, but really it was minutes. I
wondered when he would have cut about the whole lock. He was
cutting clear through and around it, severing it as if with a
superhuman knife.
With something more than half his work done, he paused a moment to
rest.
"Walter," he directed, mopping his forehead, for it was real work
directing that flaming knife, "get New York on the wire. See if
O'Connor is at his office. If he has any report, I want to talk to
him."
It was getting late and the service was slackening up. I had some
trouble, especially in getting a good connection, but at last I
got headquarters and was overjoyed to hear O'Connor's bluff, Irish
voice boom back at me.
"Hello, Jameson," he called. "Where on earth are you? I've been
trying to get hold of Kennedy for a couple of hours. Rockledge?
Well, is Kennedy there? Put him on, will you?"
I called Craig and, as I did so, my curiosity got the better of me
and I sought out an extension of the wire in a den across the hall
from the library, where I could listen in on what was said.
"Hello, O'Connor," answered Craig. "Anything from Burke yet?"
"Yes," came back the welcome news.
Pages:
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281