This conclusion had been rather a simple matter to a trained engineer.
Tom had witnessed the flash of one explosion, and that, as he remembered,
had sprung up at the west side of the wall. Moreover, the appearance and
condition of the wall, at the point of each explosion, had shown that the
attack in each case must have been made at the west side of the wall.
And now, after nearly three hours of work, Tom Reade had come upon a real
clue.
"Another blow-out is arranged for to-night, just as I had expected," Reade
muttered, with an angry thrill, as he glanced at a figure down on the
beach. "Moreover, my guess that the huge negro is the fellow who touches
off the blow-outs has proved to be the correct one."
Down on the beach a big, black man was moving about stealthily. Though the
spot was a lonely one, this scoundrel plainly intended to take no
unnecessary risks of detection.
Just at the present moment the negro was placing in the water a
curious-looking little raft that he had brought on one shoulder from its
place of concealment. It was something like a flat-bottomed scow, the
sides being just high enough to prevent whatever cargo it carried, from
rolling off into the water.
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