“It’s finished. Not a bit of wall, ceiling or floor is uncovered. The Snark may put all the screens he wishes on them. He’ll be as blind as I am ignorant of your ultimate intentions.”
Burton went to the laboratory and said, “Now spray the windows in the doors of the converters. And move any furniture that can be moved, and spray the bare spots where they were.”
De Marbot gestured at the two mobile coverters. “Under them, too?”
“Yes.”
“How do you move them? We have been working like Samson at Gaza, but we are not as strong as he.”
“Use your flying chairs to slide them from the bare spots.”
De Marbot struck his forehead with the heel of his palm. “Of course! How stupid of me! It is that I am not used to menial labor! It has dredged my intelligence from me!”
“Don’t carry on so,” Burton said. “You would have thought of it!”
“It is not military work,” the Frenchman said, as if that explained it.
Aphra went into the corridor with Burton. “How do we get out now?”
“The bricks are ordinary ones, made of clay.”
Behn pointed at his beamer and looked at him. Burton nodded.
“Then how will that keep him … the Snark … out?”
“It won’t.”
He looked at his wristwatch. “We’ve much to do yet.”
Aphra shook her head and said, “I just don’t know what you have in mind.”
“You’ll see. In time.”
He took a stepladder, set it up by the corner of the brick wall and began spraying. When he had worked down to the door of the laboratory, having painted ceiling, walls and floor of the corridor, he looked inside. The power cables connected to the bases of the two mobile converters had been disconnected, and the cabinets had been shoved onto the painted floor. The bare areas beneath were sprayed, and his co-workers were leaning against a wall and drinking water. Aphra Behn was also smoking a cigar.
“As soon as you’re rested,” Burton said, “come help me paint the corridor.”
When de Marbot came out, he stopped, his eyes widening.
“Sacred blue! You have painted the brick wall!”
“Yes,” Burton said. “The bricks seem to be just clay. I broke one open to examine it. But it’s possible that the Snark inserted some conductive material in it. I want to make sure that he can’t see us through it.”
“Not very likely,” de Marbot said.
“We take no chances.”
“Ah, you bloody British! No wonder that we lost the war.”
De Marbot was not sincere. He maintained, furiously and with great conviction and many facts, that it was the mistakes and errors of Napoleon’s marshals—and a few by the Corsican—that had caused the downfall of the empire. If his brave countrymen had been led by men who always made the right decisions, they would have been unbeatable.
Burton, so far, had refrained from pointing out that the same might be said for any army.
By the time that they had spray-painted the corridor and Loga’s room, it was 5:00 a.m.
The light and air from the wall material and vents had been cut off, but the lamps and air generator replaced these.
De Marbot said, “Voild! C’est fini! I think.”
“You think incorrectly,” Burton said. “Now we move the largest converter into the secret room.”
This was done by shoving the cabinet with a flying chair, Burton standing by the chair and operating the controls. The task took ten minutes, and the top and sides of the converter scraped against the round entrance. Having, the day before, measured the dimensions of the cabinet and of the doorway, Burton knew that it would be a tight but workable fit. When he had maneuvered the cabinet from the laboratory and into the secret room, he connected the cable to the power inlet of the cabinet.
Aphra Behn said, “You’ve covered the area that detects the entrance codeword. What do you plan to do if you want to get in again? Or will you leave the door open?”
“The paint can be easily scraped away over the area if it’s necessary,” Burton said.
The Frenchman gestured at the walls. “Everything is impenetrable. The Snark can no longer see or hear us. May we be permitted to know what you intend to do now?”