Birrell fell upon the boy's shoulders, Herbert twisted the gun from his fingers and hurled it through the window, and almost as quickly hurled himself down the steps of the tower.

Birrell leaped after him.

Ford remained only long enough to shout: "Don't touch that instrument! If you attempt to send a message through, we will shoot.

We go to cut the wires!" For a minute, the boy in the tower sat rigid, his ears strained, his heart beating in sharp, suffocating stabs.

Then, with his left arm raised to guard his face, he sank to his knees and, leaning forward across the table, inviting as he believed his death, he opened the circuit and through the night flashed out a warning to his people.
When they had taken their places in the car, Herbert touched Ford on the shoulder.
"Your last remark," he said, "was that what we wanted was a live one." "Don't mention it!" said Ford.