He touched a match to the fuse. It caught. For a moment he watched it.
"Going all right," he reported, as he struck the water. "Plenty of time."
Some seventy yards out they rested on their oars. They waited. And waited. And waited.
"It's out," grunted Trendon.
From the face of the cliff puffed a cloud of dust. A thudding report boomed over the water. Just a wisp of whitish-grey smoke arose, and beneath it the great rock, with a gapping seam across its top, rolled majestically outward, sending a shower of spray on all sides, and opening to their eager view a black chasm into the heart of the headland. The experiment had worked out with the accuracy of a geometric problem.
"That's all, sir," Barnett reported officially.
"Magic! Modern magic!" said the captain. He stared at the open door. For the moment the object of the undertaking was forgotten in the wonder of its exact accomplishment.
"Darrow'll think an earthquake's come after him," remarked Trendon.
"Give way," ordered the captain.
The boat grated on the sand. Captain Parkinson would have entered, but Barnett restrained him.
"It's best to wait a minute or two," he advised. "Occasionally slides follow an explosion tardily, and the gases don't always dissipate quickly."
Where they stood they could see but a short way into the cave. Trendon squatted and funnelled his hands to one eye.
