Next morning, when he encountered the Captain of the Yard, he was triumphant.
His imagination took the bit in its teeth.
"Well, the stuff came in all right as you said," the captain of the Yard remarked.
"And enough of it to blow half the prison sky-high," Winwood corroborated.
"Enough of what ?" the Captain demanded.
"Dynamite and detonators," the fool rattled on.

"Thirty-five pounds of it.

Your stool saw Summerface pass it over to me." And right there the Captain of the Yard must have nearly died.

I can actually sympathize with him--thirty-five pounds of dynamite loose in the prison.
They say that Captain Jamie--that was his nickname--sat down and held his head in his hands.
"Where is it now ?" he cried.

"I want it.