Brandon of the Engineers

When work began next morning, Jake asked Dick if he should order the

peons to search for the clamps that had held the guard-rail.

"I think not," said Dick. "It would be better if you looked for the

things yourself."

"Very well. Perhaps you're right."

Dick wondered how much Jake suspected, particularly as he did not appear

to be searching for anything when he moved up and down among the broken

concrete. Half an hour later, when none of the peons were immediately

about, he came up with his hand in his pocket and indicated a corner

beside a block where there was a little shade and they were not likely to

be overlooked.

"I've got one," he remarked.

When they sat down Jake took out a piece of thick iron about six inches

long, forged into something like the shape of a U, though the curve was

different and one arm was shorter than the other. Much depended on the

curve, for the thing was made on the model of an old-fashioned but

efficient clamp that carpenters sometimes use for fastening work to a

bench. A blow or pressure on one part wedged it fast, but a sharp tap on

the other enabled it to be lifted off. This was convenient, because as

the work progressed, the track along the dam had to be lengthened and the

guard fixed across a fresh pair of rails.

Taking the object from Jake, Dick examined it carefully. He thought he

recognized the dint where he had struck the iron, and then, turning it

over, noted another mark. This had been made recently, because the

surface of the iron was bright where the hammer had fallen, and a blow

there would loosen the clamp. He glanced at Jake, who nodded.

"It looks very suspicious, but that's all. You can't tell how long the

mark would take to get dull. Besides, we have moved the guard two or

three times in the last few days."

"That's true," said Dick. "Still, I wedged the thing up shortly before

the accident. It has stood a number of shocks; in fact, it can't be

loosened by pressure on the back. When do you think the last blow was

struck?"

"After yours," Jake answered meaningly.

"Then the probability is that somebody wanted the truck to fall into the

hole and smash the block."

"Yes," said Jake, who paused and looked hard at Dick. "But I'm not sure

that was all he wanted. You were standing right under the block, and if I

hadn't been a little to one side, where the lights didn't dazzle me, the

smashing of a lot of concrete wouldn't have been the worst damage."

Dick said nothing, but his face set hard as he braced himself against the

unnerving feeling that had troubled him on the previous night. The great

block had not fallen by accident; it looked as if somebody had meant to

take his life. The cunning of the attempt daunted him. The blow had been

struck in a manner that left him a very slight chance of escape; and his

subtle antagonist might strike again.