dared to imagine how the men would endeavour to force the huge safe in the office. Then he remembered the cylinders, and remembering them, and drawing upon his slender engineering knowledge, he realised that modern methods are adopted not alone by scientists who mostly discover them, and by up-to-date manufacturers, but also by up-to-date malefactors. The oxy-acetylene flame, he knew, would eat its way into a mass of steel so tough that not even a finely-tempered drill would touch it. Also, that it would burn a path far sooner than the same could be formed by the aid of the best of tools. His past knowledge told him all that. But how would these men set about the task, and —
'That's not the sort of thing I want to be interested in just now,' he suddenly told himself. 'I want to get out of this, and without their knowing; how's that to be done? A fine fool I shall look if I have to watch their operations and see them get away without summoning those posted outside. How's it to be done?'
He might ask himself the question a thousand times, but yet there was no answer. Puzzle his wits as he might, he could see no way out of the difficulty. He was trapped; he was virtually a prisoner. A movement on his part would be fatal; these men were armed perhaps.
'Armed – that's a shooter, a magazine pistol!' He almost said the words aloud of a sudden, for his danger was brought full face before him. The man, Henricksen, pulled something from his trouser pocket and deposited it on the desk behind which David was crouching. The thing glittered in the feeble rays. It flashed brightly as the electric torch happened to cast a beam in its direction. It was a Browning pistol without a shadow of doubt. It brought David Harbor to a full stop for the moment; even his heart seemed to arrest its palpitations.
'Unstrap the rugs,' he heard Henricksen say, as if he were a mile off, 'fix the props, and let us get going. When all is ready Spolikoff will get along and watch the door and windows, while Ovanovitch will mount the stairs and clear every jewel that he thinks worth having. The Admiral will lend me a hand. Got those glasses, Admiral?'
The individual alluded to, he with the clean-shaven face, searched in an inner pocket, and produced two long cases. He placed them on the desk, and then proceeded to help his companions. Nor could there now be a doubt in David's mind that the gang was experienced and well drilled. There was not a hitch, not a false move in the proceedings. They went about the work like men who had done the same before, and who in each case knew what was required of them. A huge, thick rug or mat – David could not tell which – was unwound from the outside of the two rope-covered cylinders, and was quickly supported on four wooden legs, so contrived as to telescope at the will of the owners. A second rug was slung at one side, making a species of tent, the roof being meant without doubt to arrest the glare of the flame about to be employed, and keep it from reflecting on the ceiling. While the side curtain would keep the rays from the shop windows and from the eyes of curious or suspicious passers.
'And now for the burner,' Henricksen said, seating himself on a chair beneath the tent, and donning a pair of dark-coloured spectacles. 'Put on your pair of glasses, Admiral. I've known a man pretty nigh blinded by the glare of the flame, and in any case, supposing there was trouble, you wouldn't be able to see when you wanted to hook it. Fix those rubber tubes. We'll have things going nicely in a second.'
David took in a long breath as he watched the scene, and once more his eyes surveyed each member of the gang. 'Two Russians,' he told himself, looking at the dark moustached men told off to leave the office. 'Spolikoff and Ovanovitch. The sort of alien not wanted in this country, and the Admiral is, I suppose, an ex-sailor – a bad hat, dismissed from the lower deck, a confirmed criminal. The only Englishman amongst them – what an artful fellow Henricksen must be! Who would have thought that the man employed in the jewellery store could be such a double-faced rascal! And there's his pistol.'
Yes, there it was, twinkling in the dim light, fascinating David, drawing his eyes in its direction every half minute, inviting him to inspect it further, rousing his envy, making his fingers itch to possess and handle it.
'Why not? With a long reach I could do it. Why not? It's a risk. I'll take it.'
It was typical of the lad that he should come to a sudden decision, and having so decided, should proceed to carry the task out with all his courage and determination. Was that not David's character? Had he not already shown courage and determination? What were Mrs. Clayhill's words on our hero? 'Stubborn and obstinate,' she had misrepresented him. 'Perseveres in a thing he has decided on; just like his father.'
At such times her none too pleasant features bore a somewhat ferocious aspect 'Ain't she just angry?' David used to say, as he went his way, deeming it best to absent himself for the moment. 'Just sparks flashing from her eyes. She doesn't seem as if she could be friendly. I must be an out and out obstinate fellow.'
And so he was. David was an obstinate fellow without a shadow of doubt, but with this saving clause – he was not selfish, and he was possessed of common sense; he could criticise his own actions and impulses. If he once, on maturer reflection, came to the conclusion that a certain decision was wrong, he had the sense to change it. His obstinacy was confined to matters wherein he felt that there could be no error. Witness his intention of fending for himself, of making his way alone in the world. David had that as a fixed and firm-rooted purpose before him now. His strong chin squared itself in the most emphatic manner whenever the matter crossed his mind, which was nearly always. But here was the pistol.
'I'll have it,' he told himself, his muscles tightening. 'One long stretch and there it is. Ah! they're turning their backs; I'll have a chance before very long.'
'Now the match; set the flame going,' he heard Henricksen say, and looking beneath the tent-like structure saw a sudden flash, and the profiles of this man and the 'Admiral.' The latter was holding a match towards the end of the long brass burner which Henricksen gripped in his hands. David noticed that two separate pipes converged towards the end into one, from which a small flame now spouted, while Henricksen controlled two taps, one for each of the tubes, with his fingers. Farther back a rubber tube went to each of those of metal leading to the burner, and ended at one of the cylinders, or rather, to put it in the correct order, began there, carrying the gas to the burner.
'You two get off,' said Henricksen, seeing that he had a flame. 'Spolikoff, keep moving up and down, and if you hear a latch click, sit down as tight as possible. The police look into the store every time they pass, and might see you. Admiral, pull that rug round a bit. The light will break too much round the corner.'
What a clever criminal he was! David marvelled that it could be the same sleek, suave man who waited in the jewellery department, and enticed customers to buy the things he offered. Then his eyes closed suddenly, for Henricksen's fingers manipulated the taps of his burner, and at once a fierce flame spurted out, casting about it a dazzling light. Peering round the corner of the rug which the 'Admiral' had drawn towards him, and shading his eyes behind an enormous directory, David caught a glimpse of the intensely hot jet of flame playing on the door of the safe in the neighbourhood of the lock. It seemed that he could actually see the paint peeling off, while, almost at once, the metal beneath became white hot. In less time than he could have believed it possible it seemed to be pitting, as if the flame were devouring portions of it. Then, very suddenly, the 'Admiral' pulled at the rug again, and the glare and the figures beneath the tent were obliterated. David gently removed one of the ponderous volumes, stretched his arm through the opening, and possessed himself of the Browning revolver.
'So far, so good!' he thought. 'Now to get out of the place. Wonder whether I could climb over the glass partition? No, wouldn't do; I should be seen by Henricksen at once.'
He forgot for the second that the ruffian who went by that name, and who in his everyday life was looked upon as a clever and capable salesman in the store, was at that moment wearing dark spectacles, through which he could see nothing but the glare of the acetylene flame. David failed to remember that, even armed with those glasses, the glare was such that a man manipulating the blow-pipe would require
