As he spoke he ran out and disappeared, leaving the two men poring over the papers together.

Beside the burning heap of brushwood he stood a moment, torn in an agony of uncertainty and fear.
"Oh!" he said, wringing his hands, "I dare not do it! I dare not do it!" He rushed past the blazing heap, paused.

"Fool!" he said, "what is there to fear ?" He crept back to the pile of burning brush, seized a blazing ember, ran with it to the train he had prepared of rags soaked in kerosene, leading toward the mouth of the cross tunnel, dropped the blazing stick upon it, and fled.

Looking back, he saw that in his haste he had dashed out the flame and that besides the saturated rags the stick lay smoking.

With a curse he ran once more to the blazing brush heap, selected a blazing ember, carried it carefully to the train, and set the saturated rags on fire, waiting until they were fully alight.