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"It is not only proof against explosives, but between the plates is a lining that is proof against thermit and even that oxy-acetylene blowpipe by which you rescued me from the old boiler. It has a time lock, too, that will prevent its being opened at night, even if anyone should learn the combination." They stood before the safe a moment and Kennedy examined it closely with much interest.
"You're a bright sort of burglar," said Mifflin, disparagingly. "Why don't you use your oxy-acetylene blow-pipe? Do you realize, my boy, that you've let yourself in for buying a dinner for twelve hungry men next week? In the cold light of the morning, when reason returns to her throne, that'll come home to you." "I haven't done anything of the sort," said Jimmy, unlocking the door.
With a match he touched the nozzle gingerly. Instantly a hissing, spitting noise followed, and an intense blinding needle of flame. "Now for the oxy-acetylene blowpipe," cried Kennedy as he advanced toward the steel door. "We'll make short work of this." Almost as he said it, the steel beneath the blowpipe became incandescent.
Instantly the refractory arenak turned an intense, dazzling white and more than a foot of the forty-eight-inch skin of the vessel melted away, like snow before an oxy-acetylene flame: melting and flying away in molten globes and sparkling gases the refrigerating coils lining the hull were of no avail against the concentrated energy of that titanic thrust.
What would this master cracksman, this polished wielder of the oxy-acetylene blow-pipe, this expert in toxicology, microscopy and physics think of his callow outpourings! "How would you get into the bedroom?" Spike hung his head. "Bust de catch wit' me jemmy," he whispered, shamefacedly. "Burst the catch with your jemmy?" "It's de only way I ever learned," pleaded Spike. The expert was silent.
"Can you use an oxy-acetylene blow-pipe?" "I never travel without one." "What do you know about the administration of anaesthetics?" "Practically everything. It is one of my favorite hobbies." "Can you make 'soup'?" "Soup?" "Soup," said Mr. Mifflin, firmly. Jimmy raised his eyebrows. "Does an architect make bricks?" he said. "I leave the rough preliminary work to my corps of assistants.
"What's dat?" he said. "An oxy-acetylene blow-pipe." "Search me," said Spike, blankly. "Dat gets past me." Jimmy's manner grew more severe. "Can you make soup?" "Soup, boss?" "He doesn't know what soup is," said Jimmy, despairingly. "My good man, I'm afraid you have missed your vocation. You have no business to be trying to burgle. You don't know the first thing about the game."
"Mullins is my monaker, boss. Spike, dey calls me." "And you make a living at this sort of thing?" "Not so woise." "How did you get in here?" Spike Mullins grinned. "Gee! Ain't de window open?" "If it hadn't been?" "I'd a' busted it." Jimmy eyed the fellow fixedly. "Can you use an oxy-acetylene blow-pipe?" he demanded. Spike was on the point of drinking. He lowered his glass, and gaped.
"Ain't youse swiping no more jools?" "Not me." "Nor usin' de what's-its-name blow-pipe?" "I have sold my oxy-acetylene blow-pipe, given away my anaesthetics, and am going to turn over a new leaf, and settle down as a respectable citizen." Spike gasped. His world had fallen about his ears. His excursion with.
Yes, there were other weapons the oxy-acetylene torch yes, the machine-gun. He shouted to Bruce to get the torch, and, as soon as the plane slowed down, freed his hands from his gloves and began fumbling at the gun before him. The Major was unstrapping the two rifles. The wolf-pack was crowding around in a grinning circle. Barney caught his breath as his eyes swept the circle.
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