This one had evidently escaped the net. Steve wasted no time speculating how he had done it, or where he had spent the intervening time. He was a spy, doing a spy’s work; everything pointed to that. His objective must be the shipyard, too, for there was nothing else worth destroying within a score of miles. Inwardly Haddon bitterly blamed his own stupidity in not having thoughts of that before. The tins contained powerful explosive, no doubt; enough, perhaps, to blow up both buildings and dry docks. They had planned the thing with their usual infernal care, waiting, perhaps for this very night of storm and blackness to make the attempt doubly sure. And they would succeed, the boy told himself with a dry sob of mingled rage and nervousness, unless he could outwit them.