"Well," remarked Craig contemplatively, "one can at least easily
understand how sensitive and imaginative people who have fallen
under the influence of one who writes in that way can feel
justified in killing those responsible for bringing such horrors
on the human race. Hello--what's this?"

He had discovered a false back of one of the drawers in the desk
and had jimmied it open. On the top of innumerable papers lay a
large linen envelope. On its face it bore in typewriting, just
like the card on the drawer at Fortescue's, "E-M GUN."

"It is the original envelope that contained the final plans of the
electro-magnetic gun," he explained, opening it.

The envelope was empty. We looked at each other a moment in
silence. What had been done with the plans?

Suddenly a bell rang, startling me beyond measure. It was,
however, only the telephone, of which an extension reached up into
the attic-arsenal. Some one, who did not know that we were there,
was evidently calling up.

Kennedy quickly unhooked the receiver with a hasty motion to me to
be silent.

"Hello," I heard him answer. "Yes, this is it."

He had disguised his voice. I waited anxiously and watched his
face to gather what response he received.