A Dynamite Explosion

"A Dynamite Explosion" by Robert Barr is a captivating short story that explores themes of ambition, risk, and the unpredictable nature of human endeavors. Set against the backdrop of the construction industry, the narrative follows characters grappling with the consequences of their daring choices. Barr's vivid storytelling and sharp wit bring to life the tension and excitement surrounding a dangerous endeavor involving explosives. As the plot unfolds, readers are drawn into a tale that highlights both the brilliance and folly of human invention.

• Short story

								
Dupré sat at one of the round tables in the Café Vernon, with a glass
of absinthe before him, which he sipped every now and again. He looked
through the open door, out to the Boulevard, and saw passing back and
forth with the regularity of a pendulum, a uniformed policeman. Dupré
laughed silently as he noticed this evidence of law and order. The Café
Vernon was under the protection of the Government. The class to which
Dupré belonged had sworn that it would blow the café into the next
world, therefore the military-looking policeman walked to and fro on
the pavement to prevent this being done, so that all honest citizens
might see that the Government protects its own. People were arrested
now and then for lingering around the café: they were innocent, of
course, and by-and-by the Government found that out and let them go.
The real criminal seldom acts suspiciously. Most of the arrested
persons were merely attracted by curiosity. "There," said one to
another, "the notorious Hertzog was arrested."

The real criminal goes quietly into the café, and orders his absinthe,
as Dupré had done. And the policeman marches up and down keeping an eye
on the guiltless. So runs the world.

There were few customers in the café, for people feared the vengeance
of Hertzog's friends. They expected some fine day that the café would
be blown to atoms, and they preferred to be taking their coffee and
cognac somewhere else when that time came. It was evident that M.
Sonne, the proprietor of the café, had done a poor stroke of business
for himself when he gave information to the police regarding the
whereabouts of Hertzog, notwithstanding the fact that his café became
suddenly the most noted one in the city, and that it now enjoyed the
protection of the Government.

Dupré seldom looked at the proprietor, who sat at the desk, nor at the
waiter, who had helped the week before to overpower Hertzog. He seemed
more intent on watching the minion of the law who paced back and forth
in front of the door, although he once glanced at the other minion who
sat almost out of sight at the back of the café, scrutinising all who
came in, especially those who had parcels of any kind. The café was
well guarded, and M. Sonne, at the desk, appeared to be satisfied with
the protection he was receiving.

When customers did come in they seldom sat at the round metal tables,
but went direct to the zinc-covered bar, ordered their fluid and drank
it standing, seeming in a hurry to get away. They nodded to M. Sonne
and were evidently old frequenters of the café who did not wish him to
think they had deserted him in this crisis, nevertheless they all had
engagements that made prompt departure necessary. Dupré smiled grimly
when he noticed this. He was the only man sitting at a table. He had no
fears of being blown up. He knew that his comrades were more given to
big talk than to action. He had not attended the last meeting, for he
more than suspected the police had agents among them; besides, his
friend and leader, Hertzog, had never attended meetings. That was why
the police had had such difficulty in finding him. Hertzog had been a
man of deeds not words. He had said to Dupré once, that a single
determined man who kept his mouth shut, could do more against society
than all the secret associations ever formed, and his own lurid career
had proved the truth of this. But now he was in prison, and it was the
treachery of M. Sonne that had sent him there. As he thought of this,
Dupré cast a glance at the proprietor and gritted his teeth.

The policeman at the back of the hall, feeling lonely perhaps, walked
to the door and nodded to his parading comrade. The other paused for a
moment on his beat, and they spoke to each other. As the policeman
returned to his place, Dupré said to him--

"Have a sip with me."

"Not while on duty," replied the officer with a wink.

"Garçon," said Dupré quietly, "bring me a caraffe of brandy.
Fin champagne."

The garçon placed the little marked decanter on the table with
two glasses. Dupré filled them both. The policeman, with a rapid glance
over his shoulder, tossed one off, and smacked his lips. Dupré slowly
sipped the other while he asked--

"Do you anticipate any trouble here?"

"Not in the least," answered the officer confidently. "Talk, that's
all."

"I thought so," said Dupré.

"They had a meeting the other night--a secret meeting;" the policeman
smiled a little as he said this. "They talked a good deal. They are
going to do wonderful things. A man was detailed to carry out this
job."

"And have you arrested him?" questioned Dupré.

"Oh dear, no. We watch him merely. He is the most frightened man in the
city to-night. We expect him to come and tell us all about it, but we
hope he won't. We know more about it than he does."

"I dare say; still it must have hurt M. Sonne's business a good deal."

"It has killed it for the present. People are such cowards. But the
Government will make it all right with him out of the secret fund. He
won't lose anything."

"Does he own the whole house, or only the café?"

"The whole house. He lets the upper rooms, but nearly all the tenants
have left. Yet I call it the safest place in the city. They are all
poltroons, the dynamiters, and they are certain to strike at some place
not so well guarded. They are all well known to us, and the moment one
is caught prowling about here he will be arrested. They are too
cowardly to risk their liberty by coming near this place. It's a
different thing from leaving a tin can and fuse in some dark corner
when nobody is looking. Any fool can do that."

"Then you think this would be a good time to take a room here? I am
looking for one in this neighbourhood," said Dupré.

"You couldn't do better than arrange with M. Sonne. You could make a
good bargain with him now, and you would be perfectly safe."

"I am glad that you mentioned it; I will speak to M. Sonne to-night,
and see the rooms to-morrow. Have another sip of brandy?"

"No, thank you, I must be getting back to my place. Just tell M. Sonne,
if you take a room, that I spoke to you about it."

"I will. Good-night."

Dupré paid his bill and tipped the garçon liberally. The
proprietor was glad to hear of any one wanting rooms. It showed the
tide was turning, and an appointment was made for next day.

Dupré kept his appointment, and the concierge showed him over
the house. The back rooms were too dark, the windows being but a few
feet from the opposite wall. The lower front rooms were too noisy.
Dupré said that he liked quiet, being a student. A front room on the
third floor, however, pleased him, and he took it. He well knew the
necessity of being on good terms with the concierge, who would
spy on him anyhow, so he paid just a trifle more than requisite to that

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