Cribb, not least, needed every minute he could get at his work. Three weeks at Woolwich had given him a useful grounding in explosives, enough to pass muster among the dynamiters, but no one at the Arsenal had envisaged him
There was no shortage of bomb components. Devlin took him to an out-house beside the kitchen-garden and unlocked the door to a veritable arsenal. As well as the cases of dynamite from Hole Haven, there was at least a hundredweight of Atlas Powder stored there. ‘I shall need some detonators,’ said Cribb, trying not to seem staggered at the force represented in the store. ‘You can’t make bombs without detonators.’
‘We keep them elsewhere,’ said Devlin, giving him a long look. ‘I’m not the authority on explosives here, but I’m told you don’t store detonators with dynamite.’
‘Oh, quite right,’ Cribb airily conceded. ‘Where are they, then?’
‘In the house. We keep them in the room under yours.’
It was said in the matter-of-fact manner that could not possibly be taken for anything but literal truth. This was shortly borne out, when the two men entered the room in question. The first thing to take Cribb’s eyes was the mantelpiece. Anyone unfamiliar with the manufacture of infernal machines might have wondered at the lengths to which some people go to bestir themselves in the morning, for at least a dozen alarm clocks were crowded on the shelf. Cribb crossed the room and picked one up. ‘Benson of Ludgate Hill, eh? Nothing less than the best.’
‘McGee’s orders,’ explained Devlin. ‘He blames his accident on a faulty clock. The detonators are over here, in the tallboy.’ With conspicuous care, he pulled open a drawer. Three rows of test tubes lay on a bed of cotton-wool, each one held fast by a twist of wire. ‘Malone did all this. I don’t know what the stuff inside is.’
‘It must be a fulminate of some kind,’ said Cribb. ‘Probably mercury. What’s in the other drawers?’
Devlin opened one to see. ‘It looks like a rope to me.’
Cribb turned a piece over in his hand. ‘Slow-match. This is what I’d use to make a bomb in the normal way. It burns a yard in eight hours, compared with the yard a minute of a conventional fuse. Unfortunately, you can’t burn a slow-acting fuse in an air-tight box, so I’m restricted to a clock-timed detonation. Do we have guns?’
Devlin opened the other drawer.
‘Cartridge-firing pistols,’ said Cribb, glancing inside. ‘You can see why so many of the bombs deposited about London never go off. There’s too many possibilities of faults in the mechanism. If there isn’t something wrong with the alarm-clock or the connexion with the trigger, there’s still the possibility of the hammer not striking the cap truly, and missing fire. It goes against all my bomb-making principles to make a machine as liable to defects as that and then drop it into nine feet of water and expect it to detonate perfectly. It’s too much to expect.’
‘My heart bleeds for you,’ said Devlin, with a grin that suggested otherwise. ‘Those are the water-tight boxes beside the wardrobe. I think you’d better start work at once. The Clan doesn’t look kindly on failures.’ With that, he left, presumably to check that his own work was in order.
Cribb, in sole occupation of the room, and with the key to the dynamite-store in his pocket, allowed himself a moment’s reflection. He had secured a position of trust in the dynamite party. With the help of a gun from the drawer, he was perfectly capable of surprising Devlin and taking him in charge. Rossanna and McGee would be even less trouble. They could all take the place of Thackeray in the wood-store until police reinforcements arrived.
What held him back was the promise of something better: the exposure and defeat of McGee’s plan. Premature arrests would allow the Clan to assign the mission-whatever it was-to another group. No, there was always an optimum moment to swoop, and it was not yet.
The one thing gnawing at his conscience was the helplessness of Thackeray. If the torturing continued, he would certainly intervene. There was more than a possibility, though, that Devlin and Rossanna were now too occupied preparing for the visitors to expend more time trying to extract information from their stubborn prisoner.
Sensible as all this seemed, it left him with the task of building two infernal machines in little more than twenty-four hours. Why had Rossanna insisted upon two? Was one to be kept in reserve in case the first failed? He doubted it. The object of the demonstration was to make a strong and instantaneous impression on the emissaries from America. To admit that the first bomb had not exploded-and there would be a short delay while the second was rowed out and lowered into position in hope of more success-was unlikely to win anyone’s confidence.
Surely it was likelier that the second bomb was wanted for some other target, perhaps in fulfilment of what Rossanna had termed ‘the ultimate object of all our work’. If so, he had the opportunity of foiling the scheme by building one incapable of detonation. Marvellously straightforward-if only Rossanna had not insisted that her father would inspect both boxes when their contents were ready, and select the one to be used for the demonstration. Cribb’s credibility depended on the success of the explosion by the lake.
The rest of that day and well into the afternoon of the next was one of the most exacting and intensive periods of work he had ever set himself. As well as the dangerous task of assembling the bombs and making the infinitesimal adjustments that would decree success or failure, he had much to do at the lakeside, surveying the gazebo, rowing around its three sides and under the arched supports, calculating and preparing. Failure to destroy the building would be catastrophic, an admission of incompetence. In the merciless canon of the dynamite conspiracy, it warranted death.
At four o’clock he asked Devlin to inform Rossanna that the machines were ready. She came out to the lawn where, in the interests of safety, he had arranged the squat, black boxes.
‘So here they are like two picnic-boxes!’ she said. ‘How much cold turkey did you put inside, Mr Sargent?’
‘About twenty-five pounds in each, if I understand your meaning correct, Rossanna. I’m allowing for some resistance, you see.’
‘It sounds a lot to me, but I’m sure you’re the expert. Lift the lids, please, and show me the insides. Ah, how very neat! And both clocks ticking merrily away and keeping excellent time.’
‘Nothing will be activated until the alarms are set,’ said Cribb. ‘But I don’t advise anyone to touch the parts. It only wants the slightest pressure on a trigger. .’
‘I’m sure,’ said Rossanna. ‘Well, I shall save my congratulations for later. The visitors will be here at six o’clock. Father has decided that the destruction of the folly will take place exactly two hours after that. He wants you to remain out of sight until the smoke has cleared. Then you will appear, like Mephistopheles.’
‘I hope it impresses ’em,’ said Cribb with total sincerity. ‘What are their names?’
‘Mr Carse and Mr Millar. I have not met them myself. Father knows them, though. They are patriots like the rest of us, but they have the reputation of being hard-headed men. Now, gentlemen, if you would be good enough to go to the kitchen I think there is some ale there for you. While you are gone, I shall bring Father out to inspect the machines. He will wish to see them alone. Do not be concerned, Mr Sargent. I shall insist that he touches nothing. If you return in half an hour, I shall tell you which box is to be used tonight and you can activate the mechanism. Then we shall seal it, and you, Patrick, can help Mr Sargent convey it to the lake and deposit it as he directs.’
The first sign of the approach of spectators at the lakeside that evening was a flash of pale yellow through the trees, the shawl Rossanna was wearing, caught by the low-angled rays of the sun. They were using a more even path than the one she had led Cribb along on his first visit to the gazebo, probably because McGee was of the party. There were three bowler-hatted figures walking behind the chair.
Cribb picked up the field-glasses he had borrowed from the house, and looked for Carse and Millar. One of the bowlers was Devlin’s, so he moved quickly on to the next. It was worn by a thick-set, grey-bearded man with florid skin and bulbous features. He was talking as he walked, using his clenched right fist to emphasise points.
Cribb shifted the focus to the second newcomer, who was speaking to no one, seeming content to stay remote from the rest of the party. He stared fixedly ahead through thick, pebble-glass spectacles with wire frames. His height was not much over five feet and he had compensated for this by cultivating a large black moustache, bow-shaped so that the ends reached almost to the line of his jaw. For all the forceful gestures of the big man, this one conveyed more menace.
They stopped at the waterside, some eighty yards from the gazebo on the other side of the lake. It was fully
