Garth stirred uneasily.
"Explosives!" he said. "I see why you wanted me."
"The pay's high," Slim answered. "The fellows that are after this stuff don't trust diplomatic talk. Everybody wants it if only to be sure that nobody else gets it, for they claim that the nation that has it, could make a league of all the rest look like Tod Sloan fighting Dempsey. The inventor thinks Uncle Sam ought to have it, if anybody, but he's been holding off. It's new, and he's either afraid of it himself, or he thinks he can perfect it."
"He's afraid of it," Nora breathed. "He told me it was a sin to invent it."
"The point is, Simmons," the leader said, "can you handle the stuff with a degree of safety after you have read the formula? A man of your experience—"
"I am not afraid to tackle it if I can see the formula," Garth answered quietly.
"Say, Simmons," George put in with a wry face, "if there's anything phony about your education, drop off here."
Garth fingered a frayed sheet of white paper.
"I am not afraid if I can see the formula," he repeated.
The leader turned to Nora.
"You're sure there's some of the stuff in the safe with the formula? The foreigner wouldn't dicker without a sample to analyze."
