“Is that you. Thomas?” cried Prokop in a low voice.
“No. I’m the laboratory assistant. Mr. Thomas can’t come. He has important work. What do you want?”
“I must speak with him urgently.”
The laboratory assistant, a stout and active little man, shrugged his shoulders.
“I’m afraid it’s no good. Mr. Thomas isn’t free to-day even for a second.”
“Are you making Krakatit?”
The assistant snorted evasively. “What’s that to do with you?”
“I must . . . warn him of something. I’ve something to give him.”
“You can give it to me. I’ll take it to him.”
“No. I’ll . . . I’ll only give it to him. Tell him”
“All the same, you could leave it with me.” The man in the white coat turned on his heel and went off.
“Wait,” cried Prokop. “Give him this. Explain to him . . . explain to him. . . .” He drew out of his pocket the crumpled package and passed it through the grille. The assistant took it suspiciously with the tips of his fingers and Prokop felt as if he had torn himself away from something. “Tell him that . . . that I’m waiting here and that I should like him to . . . to come here!”
”I’ll give it him,” said the assistant and went away.
Prokop squatted down on his heels. On the other side of the partition a silent shadow continued to
