confused, reached
out a steadying hand, he realized that the walls of this room were of
steel, too. The cold, uncompromising feel of the metal was another
warning to him. His only chance was that the safe might balk George for
some time.

The man's first words, indeed, encouraged this hope.

"May take a little time," he muttered. "Might's well be comfortable,
Simmons. Nora, toss us a couple of those sofa pillows."

Nora reached to the divan behind her and passed the cushions to George.
He arranged one to his satisfaction before raising his hand to the
combination.

"Plenty of time, isn't there?" Garth croaked anxiously.

"Ought to be," George answered. "Everything's covered now. Didn't expect
to find the watchman where we did though. If he hadn't been half
asleep--Nora, maybe you doped him at supper."

The girl gave no sign. She remained crouched at the side. She was like
an animal, ready to spring at the first alarm.

Garth was aware of an unusual tension himself. It was not quite the
suspense he had forecasted. Perhaps this sharing of criminal labor for
the first time accounted for its nature. He appreciated the amount of
courage demanded. He received, as it were, George's disturbing point of
view of the moment.

Garth had caught a new stammering quality in the man's voice. He
wondered at the perspiration which bathed his face in spite of the
comfortable temperature of the room. He studied the shoulders, squared
as for an attack, momentarily expected. Only the fingers at their facile
work displayed no emotion.

Garth questioned if George always worked under this strain. Did any of
the responsibility rest with this room? Since his first entrance over
the prostrate form of the watchman, since his first touch of those
unyielding walls, he had himself experienced a distaste for the
apartment. This may have been accounted for in part by that single,
brilliant shaft of light, which, illuminating the nest of this perilous
booty, deepened the shadows elsewhere.

Garth could make out little. His eyes failed to explore the
corners, succeeded only in reaching the divan and one or two easy
chairs--furniture altogether incongruous in a chemist's laboratory.

Although the water streamed from George's face, he saw the man shiver.
It started an expository train of thought. The last time this job had
been attempted Kridel had been killed--in this house, almost certainly
in this room. He recalled the superstitious fears