It was a mighty risk, but against it was an absolute black certainty.

If I used it the odds were, as I reckoned, about five to one in favour of my blowing myself into the tree-tops; but if I didn't I should very likely be occupying a six-foot hole in the garden by the evening.

That was the way I had to look at it.

The prospect was pretty dark either way, but anyhow there was a chance, both for myself and for my country.
The remembrance of little Scudder decided me.

It was about the beastliest moment of my life, for I'm no good at these cold-blooded resolutions.