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           WiththetorchtohelpmeIinvestigatedfurther.Therewerebottlesandcasesofqueer-smellingstuffs,chemicalsnodoubtforexperiments,andtherewerecoilsoffinecopperwireandyanksandyanksofthinoiledsilk.Therewasaboxofdetonators,andalotofcordforfuses.ThenawayatthebackoftheshelfIfoundastoutbrowncardboardbox,andinsideitawoodencase.Imanagedtowrenchitopen,andwithinlayhalfadozenlittlegreybricks,eachacoupleofinchessquare.

           Itookupone,andfoundthatitcrumbledeasilyinmyhand.ThenIsmeltitandputmytonguetoit.AfterthatIsatdowntothink.Ihadn’tbeenaminingengineerfornothing,andIknewlentonitewhenIsawit.

           WithoneofthesebricksIcouldblowthehousetosmithereens.IhadusedthestuffinRhodesiaandknewitspower.Butthetroublewasthatmyknowledgewasn’texact.Ihadforgottentheproperchargeandtherightwayofpreparingit,andIwasn’tsureaboutthetiming.Ihadonlyavaguenotion,too,astoitspower,forthoughIhaduseditIhadnothandleditwithmyownfingers.

           Butitwasachance,theonlypossiblechance.Itwasamightyrisk,butagainstitwasanabsoluteblackcertainty.IfIusedittheoddswere,asIreckoned,aboutfivetooneinfavourofmyblowingmyselfintothetree-tops;butifIdidn’tIshouldverylikelybeoccupyingasix-footholeinthegardenbytheevening.ThatwasthewayIhadtolookatit.Theprospectwasprettydarkeitherway,butanyhowtherewasachance,bothformyselfandformycountry.