"That won't help, Mr. Quail. I've sent for the expert and he will
probably have the safe open in a short time."
"Blowtorches?" the swearing man asked abruptly.
"Absurd. He would cook before he was out. And three feet of steel and
then two feet more."
"Nitroglycerin?"
"And make jelly out of him?" The woman tapped her finger-nails with her
glasses.
Another arrival, who carried a small satchel, talked with her in an
undertone and then took off his coat. He went first to a telephone on
the wall and said: "Gi' me the inside of the vault. Hello.... Hello? You
there? Are you all right?... Try that combination again." The
safe-expert held the wire and waited. Not even the faintest sounds of
the attempt were audible in the front room. "Hello? You tried it?...
Well, see if those numbers are in this order." He repeated a series of
complicated directions. Finally he hung up. "Says it's getting pretty
stuffy in there. Says he's lying down on the floor."
People came and went. The president himself walked in calmly and
occupied a chair. He lit a cigar, puffed on it, and stared with
ruminative eyes at the shiny mechanism on the front of the safe.
"We are doing everything possible," the woman said to him crisply.
"Of course," he nodded. "I called up the insurance company. We're amply
covered." A pause. "Mrs. Robinson, post one of the guards to keep
people from running in and out of here. There are enough around
already."
No one had given Hugo any attention. He stood quietly in the background.
The expert worked and all eyes were on him. Occasionally he muttered to
himself. The hands of an electric clock moved along in audible jerks.
Nearly an hour passed and the room had become hazy with tobacco smoke.
The man working on the safe was moist with perspiration. His blue shirt
was a darker blue around the armpits. He lit a cigarette, set it down,
whirled the dials again, lit another cigarette while the first one
burned a chair arm, and threw a crumpled, empty package on the floor.
At last he went to the phone again. He waited for some time before it
was answered, and he was compelled to make the man inside repeat
frequently. The new series of stratagems was without result. Before he
went again to his labours, he addressed the group. "Air getting pretty
bad, I guess."
"Is it dark?" one of them asked tremulously.
"No."
Fifteen minutes more. The expert glanced at the bank's president,
hesitated, struggled frenziedly for a while, and then sighed. "I'm
afraid I can't get him out, sir. The combination is jammed and the
time-lock is all off."
The president considered. "Do you know of anyone else who could do
this?"
The man shook his head. "No. I'm supposed to be the best. I've been
called out for this--maybe six times. I never missed before. You see, we
make this safe--or we used to make it. And I'm a specialist. It looks
serious."
The president took his cigar from his mouth. "Well, go ahead
anyway--until it's too late."