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Updated: May 26, 2025
The great, unwieldy thing was only a monumental bluff! It not only had not been locked, but it COULD NOT be locked the mechanism was out of order, the bolts could not be moved by so much as a hair's breadth! Still chuckling, Jimmie Dale shot the flashlight's ray into the interior of the safe and the chuckle died on his lips, and into his face came a look of strained bewilderment.
And and for the love of God, don't make a sound! It's all up if we're seen going out!" The flashlight's ray danced in crazy gyrations as the two figures swayed and crept across the garret. Rhoda Gray unlocked the door, and, as they passed out, locked it again on the outside. "Hide the key!" whispered Gypsy Nan. "See that crack in the floor under the partition! Slip it in there!"
A curious, muffled, metallic thump, mingled with a quick, low-breathed, triumphant oath, came suddenly from the inner room and then Laroque's voice, eager, the words clipped off as though in feverish elation: "There she is! One nice little job eh? Well, come on shoot your light into her, and let's take a look at the Christmas tree!" The flashlight's ray flooded the interior of the open safe.
She moved swiftly across the floor, and in a moment more was bending over the escritoire. And now, with her body hiding the flashlight's rays from the front windows, she examined the desk. It was an old-fashioned, spindle-legged affair, with a nest of pigeonholes and multifarious little drawers.
And now Jimmie Dale smiled again that curious flicker on his lips that mingled whimsicality and a deadly earnestness. The Tocsin had made no mistake. Showing through the aperture, gleaming under the flashlight's ray, was the nickel dial of a safe. He worked rapidly now. The first panel out, the remainder came much more readily and finally the entire face of the safe was disclosed.
He whipped his hands from the side pockets of his coat the ray of his flashlight cut across the room and fell upon an aged face upon a bed, upon a hand clutching a wad of cloth, the cloth pressed horribly against the nose and mouth of the upturned face and then, roaring in the stillness, spitting a vicious lane of fire that paralleled the flashlight's ray, came the tongue flame of his automatic.
The flashlight's ray was even lifted above them, as it moved about. There was only one door the door by which he had entered; and only one window which, with a sudden frown, he mentally noted did not open on the alleyway, for the very sufficient reason that the alleyway was on the other side of the house. He stepped quickly to the window, and looked out.
Something bulky, huge, loomed in the blackness, a building. The flashlight's circle, growing dimmer now for the battery was almost exhausted, disclosed steps and a broad piazza. Mr. Bangs climbed the steps, crossed the piazza, the boards of which creaked beneath him. There were doors, but they were shut tight; there were windows, but they were shuttered.
He reached up underneath it, felt for the window fastening, and unlocked it; then cautiously tested the window itself by lifting it an inch or two it slid easily in its grooves. He stood then for a moment, hardfaced, a frown gathering his forehead into heavy furrows, as the flashlight's ray again and again darted hither and thither.
There was a yell, a scream, that echoed out, reverberated, and went racketing through the house, and Jimmie Dale leaped forward over a table, sending it crashing to the floor. The man had reeled back against the wall, clutching at a shattered wrist, staring into the flashlight's eye, white-faced, jaw dropped, lips working in mingled pain and fear. "Harve Thoms you, eh?" gritted Jimmie Dale.
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