Burton waited for no more, but leapt down the stairs, vaulted over the window sill, and rushed towards the laboratory, trembling with nameless fears. He tried to burst in the door, but it resisted all his strength. There were no windows in the walls; the place was lighted from above. Shinning up the drain-pipe, he scrambled along the gutter until he could look through the skylight in the sloping roof. And then he saw Micklewright, with his back towards him, sitting rigid in a chair.
Burton drove his elbow through the skylight, swung himself through the hole, and dropped to the floor. To his great relief he saw that Micklewright was neither dead nor unconscious; indeed, his eyes were gazing placidly at him through his spectacles. It was the work of a moment to cut the cords that bound the chemist’s legs and arms to the chair, and to tear from his mouth the thick fold of newspaper that had gagged him.
"Wood pulp!" said Micklewright, with a grimace of mild disgust, as soon as he could speak. "Beastly stuff!--if I’ve got to be gagged, gag me with rag!"
"Who did it? What’s it mean?" said Burton.
"It means that somebody was keenly interested in that paragraph which the Admiralty clerk so kindly supplied to his journalist brother."
"Yes. Competitors abhor a secret.... The taste of printer’s ink on pulp paper is very obnoxious, Teddy."
"It was very neatly done. As nearly as I can recollect, a man put his head in at the door and asked politely, but in broken English, the way to Faversham. Being rather busy at the time I’m afraid I misdirected him. But it didn’t matter, because a second or two after I was kicking the shins of two other fellows who were hugging me; I’m sorry I had to use my boots, but my fists were not at the moment available. You see how it ended.
"They had just fixed me in the chair--printer’s ink is _very_ horrid--when the telephone bell rang. My first visitor told one of the others, in French, to cut the wire: it must have been rather annoying to the person at the other end."
"I was trying to get you in the ’Sun.’ But go on."
"Their next movements much interested me. The commander of the expedition began to scout along the bench, and soon discovered my explosive--by the way, I proposed to call it Hittite. He was a cool card. He first burnt a little: ’Bien!’ said he. Then he exploded a little: ’Bien!’ again. Then he scooped the whole lot into a brown leather bag, just as it was, and made off, lifting his hat very politely as he went out. He had some trouble in getting his motor-cycle to fire----"