"_Thousands in that safe_"
"No names!" hoarsely interrupted the other. "If you speak my name again
I'll give the whole thing up."
"No you won't; you're too deep in it for that. But I'll drop the Fellows
and just call you Sam. If that's too familiar, we'll drop the job. I'm
not so keen on it."
"You will be. It's right in your line." Sam Fellows, as he was called,
was whispering now--a hot, eager whisper, breathing of guilt and
desperation. "If I could do it alone--but I haven't the wit--the----"
"Experience," dryly put in the other. "Well, well!" he exclaimed
impatiently, as Fellows crept nearer, but said nothing.
"I'm going to speak, but--Well, then, here's how it is!" he suddenly
conceded, warned by the other's eye. "The building is a twenty-story
one, chuck full and alive with business. The room I mean is on the
twelfth floor; it is one of five, all communicating, and all in constant
use except the one holding the safe. And that is visited constantly.
Some one is always going in and out. Indeed, it is a rule of the firm
that every one of the employees must go into that room once, at least,
during the day, and remain there for five minutes alone. I do it; every
one does it; it's a very mysterious proceeding which only a crank like
my employer would devise."
"What do you do there?"
"Nothing. I'm speaking now for myself. The others--some of the
others--_one_ of the others may open the safe. That's what I believe,
that's what I want to know about and _how it's done_. There are
thousands in that safe, and the old man being away----"
"Yes, this is all very interesting. Go on. What you want is an artist
with a jimmy."
"No, no. It's no such job as that. I want to know the person, the
trusted person who has all those securities within touch. It's a mania
with me. I should have been the man. I'm--I'm _manager_."
The hoarseness with which this word was uttered, the instinct of shame
which made his eyes fall as it struggled from his lips, wakened a
curious little gleam of hardy cynicism in the steady gaze of his
listener.
"Oh, you're manager, are you!" came in slow retort, filling a silence
that had more of pain than pleasure in it. "Well, manager, your story is
very interesting, but by no means complete. Suppose you hurry on to the
next instalment."
Cringing as from a blow, Fellows took up his tale, no longer creeping
nearer his would-be confederate, but, if anything, edging away.