Instantly he knew what was happening. This man was signalling. Carrington
had heard of the German signalling lamp which, by means of ingeniously
arranged lenses, throws one tiny ray which can be caught and flung back by
a specially constructed mirror. That was what was happening before his
very eyes. A glow of rage sent the blood boiling through his veins, and
forgetting all about the switch he sprang forward.
As ill luck had it, there was a wooden grating in the middle of the cement
floor. In the darkness, he failed to see this, and catching his toe,
stumbled and fell with a crash on hands and knees.
He heard a terrified yelp, and the man made a dash past him for the door.
But the door was closed. Carrington had shut it behind him. Before the
fellow could get it open, Ken was on his feet again, and had flung himself
on the signaller.
With a snarl like that of a trapped cat, the man wrenched one arm free.
'Take that!' he hissed, and next instant Ken felt the sting of steel
grazing his left shoulder.
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