THREE-THIRTY A.M.
Joseph Almer and Captain Woodhouse sat in the darkened and heavily
blinded office-reception room of the Hotel Splendide. All the hotel
had long since been put to bed, and the silence in the rambling house
was audible. The hands of the Dutch clock on the wall were pointing to
the hour of three-thirty.
Strain was on both the men. They spoke in monosyllables, and only
occasionally. Almer's hand went out from time to time to lift a squat
bottle of brandy from the table between them and pour a tiny glass
brimful; he quaffed with a sucking noise. Woodhouse did not drink.
"It is three-thirty," the latter fretted, with an eye on the mottled
clock dial.
"He will come," Almer assured. A long pause.
"This man Jaimihr--he is thoroughly dependable?" The man in uniform
put the question with petulant bruskness.
"It is his passion--what we are to do to-night--something he has lived
for--his religion. Nothing except judgment day could---- Hah!"
The sharp chirp of a telephone bell, a dagger of sound in the silence,
broke Almer's speech. He bounded to his feet; but not so quickly as
Woodhouse, who was across the room in a single stride and had the
receiver to his ear.
"Well, well! Yes, this is the one you name." Woodhouse turned to
Almer, and his lips framed the word Jaimihr. "Yes, yes; all is
well--and waiting. Bishop? He is beyond interference--coming down the
Rock--I did the work silently. What's that?" Woodhouse's face was
tensed in strain; his right hand went to a breast pocket and brought
out a pencil. With it he began making memoranda on the face of a
calendar by his side.
"Seven turns--ah, yes--four to the left--correct." His writing hand
was moving swiftly. "Press, one to the right. Good! I have it, and
am off at once. Good-by!"
Woodhouse finished a line of script on the calendar face, hung up the
receiver. He carefully tore the written notes from the calendar and
put them into his pocket.
"Jaimihr says he has work to do at Government House and can not come
down." Woodhouse turned to Almer and explained in rapid sentences.
"But he's given me the combination--to Room D--over the wire, and now
I'm off!"
Almer was all excitement now. He hovered lovingly about Woodhouse,
patting him on the shoulder, giving him his helmet, mothering him with
little cooing noises.
"Speed quickly, Nineteen Thirty-two! Up the Rock to the signal tower,
Nineteen Thirty-two, to do the deed that will boom around the world.
The switches--one pull, my brother, and the fatherland is saved to
triumph over her enemies, victorious!"
"Right, Almer!" Woodhouse was moving toward the door. "In eight
minutes history will be made. The minute you hear the blast, start for
Spain. I will try to escape, but I doubt----"
A knock came at the barred front door--one knock, followed by three.
Both men were transfixed. Almer, first to recover his calmness,
motioned Woodhouse through the door to the dining-room. When his
companion had disappeared, he stepped to the door and cautiously asked:
"Who knocks?"
An answer came that caused him to shoot back the bolts and thrust out
his head. A message was hurriedly whispered into his ear. The
Splendide's proprietor withdrew his head and slipped the bolt home
again. His face was a thundercloud as he summoned Woodhouse; his
breath came in wheezy gasps.
"My Arab boy comes to the door just now to tell me of Louisa's fate;
she has been arrested," he said.
"Come, Almer! I am going to the signal tower--there is still time for
us to strike."
Out on to Waterport Street leaped Woodhouse, and the door closed behind
him.