the nose is one of the most pain-sensitive organs in the human body - and Malone was discovering the truth in scientific detail . Kennan had only seconds left . he jumped forward to the far limit of his chain , his right hand chopping edge-downwards in bone-jarring force . the blow took the writhing thug a fraction above the boney knob which landmarked the cervical plexus , the vital nerve-centre which a long-ago marine instructor had declared the pinnacle of unarmed combat targets . the thug collapsed with a whistling moan , and Kennan tore the Luger from the man &apos;s suddenly limp hand . there was no time for rejoicing , but the hard , firm shape of the automatic sent a new confidence surging through his body . shouts , and the clatter of feet meant Goldie and Leo Grundy were on their way . Kennan pulled the manacle chain taut , and blasted two shots at the link which tied him to the ring-bolt in the rock . the nine-millimetre bullets smashed the chain as if it had been plastic , and , free , though the chain still dangled , he threw himself across the floor towards the entrance . Leo Grundy materialized there at the same second , his gun throwing down for a target . Kennan squeezed trigger first , and the bullet , taking the other with blasting muzzle-velocity at close range , high in the chest , smashed him back and downwards while Grundy &apos;s shot bit splintering rock from the wall feet away , then whined in a double ricochet . with scrambling intensity , Kennan hurdled the man as he fell and was in the main gallery , looking for the last of the trio . Goldie Lord was running , back down the rock-walled corridor , past the tangle of camp-beds , stove , and collection of crates which marked their base , towards the far end of the tunnel where the lights stopped and a deep blackness marked the start of the way towards the surface . Kennan aimed , then lowered the gun and began sprinting instead . he could n&apos;t , even in his present mood , shoot the man in the back . for Goldie had no gun , only the open razor held in his right hand , close by his side . suddenly the other man tripped and went sprawling , one foot tangled in the rubber-armoured wire which snaked across the gallery from the midget power generator . the lights flickered , then held steady . Goldie lunged to his feet again , the razor flashing in a frantic sidestroke as his pursuer loomed over him . Kennan threw himself to one side to avoid the slicing metal , and swung the manacle chain like a flail , reaping a bloody swathe across his opponent &apos;s face , following it up with a blow from the gun-barrel which smashed the man &apos;s forearm , the bone fracturing with an audible click . he kicked the razor clear , then stood back , panting for breath , gesturing with the long black muzzle of the Luger . my turn &amp;hellip; get moving ... he gasped , pointing back down the gallery . tears of pain in his eyes , facial muscles quivering , Goldie rose slowly to his feet and obeyed . Kennan got behind him , let him reach the camp area , then smartly reversed the Luger and brought the butt down hard on the other man &apos;s head . Goldie went down , jack-knifing across one of the camp-beds . limping badly now - the old familiar ache in his leg started again as the tension died - Kennan heaved the man over , rummaged around the collection of boxes and crates , and found a length of cord . he used it to lash the man &apos;s hands and feet together , then passed a few final turns round Goldie &apos;s body and camp-bed frame , anchoring him securely . the Luger ready , he walked slowly back towards the little side-gallery which had been his prison . Leo Grundy was lying with his back against the rock wall , barely conscious , his face suddenly younger and frightened , breath coming in wheezing gulps . Kennan stepped over him , collecting the man &apos;s gun on the way , and knelt beside Cutter Malone . the knifeman thug was dead . it was a moment or two before Kennan understood . the crushing blow he had landed on the man &apos;s neck , paralysing the vital nerve centre , by fluke chance had also been hard and accurate enough to damage the delicate nervous lacework which controlled life &apos;s respiratory action . unconscious , Malone had died from lack of oxygen , just as surely as if he had been strangled . he felt sick . but there were other things to do than crouch over the probably unlamented remains of Cutter Malone . Kennan went back to where Leo Grundy was slumped , and eased the man back into a more comfortable position . Grundy &apos;s eyes , wide and bright with fear , followed every move he made . the handcuff key was still in the twenty-year-old &apos;s trouser pocket . with a sigh of relief , Kennan loosened the metal jaws , and massaged his red-wealed wrist . now , however , he had another problem : what to do with the two surviving crooks . Goldie ? he could be discounted for some time , and his bonds should hold until he was collected by MacTaggart &apos;s men . but Leo Grundy - he bent low over the younger man again . Leo was as vicious as they came - but in a way he was sorry it had been he who &apos;d stopped a bullet . whatever his record , and Kennan had no illusions on that score , Leo had been the most humane of the trio towards him . I &apos;m going to lift you and get you on to one of the beds . understand ? Grundy coughed , and gave a faint mumble of acknowledgement . he was n&apos;t heavy . Kennan carried him over , and laid him down on the nearest camp-bed , a pillow under his head . a two-gallon water-can , made of bright-red plastic , was lying near by . he poured some into a cup , and let the wounded man sip the liquid . the eyes showed something akin to gratitude . but the red stain on the front of Grundy &apos;s red woollen cardigan was spreading . Kennan &apos;s fingertips were stained the same colour as he unbuttoned the garment and loosened the shirt beneath . the Luger slug had made a neat round entry just below the collarbone . easing him up , Kennan found the bullet &apos;s exit point , a more ragged wound , in from the shoulder-blade . Grundy would live . his lung was probably nicked , but with no sign yet of blood in his mouth he seemed to have been lucky . I &apos;m going to give you it straight , said Kennan . I &apos;ll pad up the wound , and send help as soon as I get out . if you stay still , you &apos;ve a chance . try getting away , and you &apos;ll haemorrhage within a hundred yards . Grundy nodded . he found a clean shirt in a small suitcase , tore it into strips , and used the resultant rags as bandages . Grundy was too weak from shock and his wound to do more than watch . when it was done , he settled back with a sigh . answer me some questions . Kennan sat on the edge of the bed , the Luger on his lap . how far are we from the Polley-Bland plant ? Grundy swallowed , and mumbled a reply so low and hoarse that Kennan had to strain to hear . about &amp;hellip; about forty miles . we &apos;re in south &amp;hellip; Ayrshire . takes about an hour , maybe more , to &amp;hellip; Glasgow . the inside man at the plant . he &apos;s an American ? a nod . his name ? Grundy tried to turn his head away . but he could n&apos;t escape . he swallowed again . Spence &amp;hellip; that &apos;s what Vince Benson calls him . Gene . since he &apos;d lain chained to the rock , Kennan had realized that there was no other choice . but somehow he &apos;d kept hoping he could be wrong . now , he had to face facts , and concentrate on the other important task still on hand , saving big Betsy , the crucial item of equipment on which the Polley-Bland contract and so much more depended . he lit a cigarette , and put his final question . how are they going to do it ? how do they knock out the transformer ? the fear of death was large in Grundy &apos;s eyes . he knew that Kennan was his only hope of getting medical attention , and by his standards it seemed logical enough that there was an unspoken threat as to the consequence of failure to answer . Spence &amp;hellip; Spence did n&apos;t tell us . Vince knows , but he would n&apos;t talk either . Grundy licked his lips , face white and desperate . all I know is the time &amp;hellip; eleven a.m . hell , Kennan , I &amp;hellip; I &apos;d tell you if I could . Kennan tried again . but , his voice hoarse and weak , coupling his words with a plea for a doctor , the little crook persisted that the exact method to be used was a secret Gene Spence had refused to reveal . it was eight-thirty - only half an hour since the brooch and fish hook trap had sprung . time enough , Kennan knew , but leaving nothing to spare . there was a storm lantern lying among the clutter of stores , and he picked it up , took a last look around the underground gallery , sniffing the faint odour of gunsmoke still lingering in the air , then headed towards the black of the tunnel to the surface . compared with the main gallery , the ventilation tunnel was smaller and narrow . even with the wavering beam of the storm light , he more than once bumped his head on the two hundred yard trip along the shaft &apos;s rough , rising surface towards ground level . the last fifty yards or so was at an upward angle of almost forty-five degrees . then he was at the heavy door at the shaft entrance . for a moment , staring at it , he thought he &apos;d have to go back and try to find a key . but Benson had obviously decided he &apos;d never be locked in from the inside . there was a simple handle mechanism which governed the massive lock . the door swung wide , and he was free , in the open , standing in the clean fresh air , the sun shining above , the soft , still dew-moist grass springy underfoot . a curlew rose from a patch of heather only feet away and soared skywards , giving its distinctive pee-wit cry . he felt like laughing and crying , both at the same time . and in the middle distance , the narrow tarmac ribbon of a road cut across the dark green of the moorland . Kennan dragged a heavy boulder over to the shaft doorway , placing it in such a way that the door could n&apos;t swing shut . then , shoving the Luger into the waistband of his trousers , he set off for the road . half a mile along the road , after tossing a coin and electing to take the left-hand direction , he managed to thumb a lift . the driver of the farm tractor had taken some convincing when he first saw the ragged , blood-stained tramp waving from the roadside . but Kennan still had his wallet , and money . the tractor , its fare-paying passenger perched precariously behind the driver , roared along the country highway at full throttle , and after about a mile swung into a small plantation of fir trees . the farmhouse was in the middle . more explanations , considerably complicated by the fact that he had to explain the gun in his waistband while the farmer &apos;s wife held an old-fashioned single-barrelled shotgun pointed at his midriff , finally ended with him being allowed to use the farmhouse phone . while he waited for the operator at police head-quarters in Glasgow to locate Superintendent MacTaggart , Kennan asked his audience : what &apos;s the name of this place ? the farmer &apos;s wife , the shotgun now laid against the table but still near at hand , told him . Aultdonald . about three miles out o&apos; Cumnock , mister . in her broad Ayrshire dialect she demanded in turn , are you one of them Americans from the air base at Prestwick ? he shook his head , and turned back to the phone as MacTaggart &apos;s voice crackled over the wire . where the hell have you been , Kennan ? barked the policeman . I &apos;ve had a full scale search going on for you for almost twenty-four hours now . the American embassy &apos;s been howling that you &apos;ve got to be found , the home office joining in the chorus , and I &apos;ve been left holding the baby . what happened ? Kennan told him as crisply as possible , conscious of the open-mouth attention of the two other people in the farmhouse kitchen . 