Beside a workbench stood two long cylinders, studded with bolts.
"That's what I'm looking for," exclaimed Craig. "Here, Walter,
take one. I'll take the other--and the tubes--and--"
He did not pause to finish, but seized up a peculiar shaped
instrument, like a huge hook, with a curved neck and sharp beak.
Really it was composed of two metal tubes which ran into a
cylinder or mixing chamber above the nozzle, while parallel to
them ran another tube with a nozzle of its own.
We ran, for there was no time to lose. As nearly as I could
estimate it, the water must now be slowly closing over Elaine.
"What is it?" I asked as he joined up the tubes from the tanks to
the peculiar hook-like apparatus he carried.
"An oxyacetylene blowpipe," he muttered back feverishly working.
"Used for welding and cutting, too," he added.
With a light he touched the nozzle. Instantly a hissing, blinding
flame-needle made the steel under it incandescent. The terrific
heat from one nozzle made the steel glow. The stream of oxygen
from the second completely consumed the hot metal. And the force
of the blast carried a fine spray of disintegrated metal before
it. It was a brilliant sight. But it was more than that. Through
the very steel itself, the flame, thousands of degrees hot, seemed
to eat its way in a fine line, as if it were a sharp knife cutting
through ordinary cardboard.
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