Hardly a sound it made as it bit into the door.Half a minute passed--there was the faint fall of a small piece of wood--into the aperture crept the delicate, tapering fingers--came a slight rasping of metal--then the door swung back, the dark shadow that had been Jimmie Dale vanished and the door closed again.
A round, white beam of light glowed for an instant--and disappeared.
A miscellaneous, lumbering collection of junk and odds and ends blocked the entry, leaving no more space than was sufficient for bare passageway.Jimmie Dale moved cautiously--and once more the flashlight in his hand showed the way for an instant--then darkness again.
The cluttered accumulation of secondhand stuff in the rear gave place to a little more orderly arrangement as he advanced toward the front of the store.Like a huge firefly, the flashlight twinkled, went out, twinkled again, and went out.He passed a sort of crude, partitioned-off apartment that did duty for the establishment's office, a sort of little boxed-in place it was, about in the middle of the floor.Jimmie Dale's light played on it for a moment.but he kept on toward the front door without any pause.
Every movement was quick, sure, accurate, with not a wasted second.
It had been barely a minute since he had vaulted the back fence.It was hardly a quarter of a minute more before the cumbersome lock of the front door was unfastened, and the door itself pulled imperceptibly ajar.
He went swiftly back to the office now--and found it even more of a shaky, cheap affair than it had at first appeared; more like a box stall with windows around the top than anything else, the windows doubtless to permit the occupant to overlook the store from the vantage point of the high stool that stood before a long, battered, wobbly desk.There was a door to the place, too, but the door was open and the key was in the lock.The ray of Jimmie Dale's flashlight swept once around the interior--and rested on an antique, ponderous safe.
Under the mask Jimmie Dale's lips parted in a smile that seemed almost apologetic, as he viewed the helpless iron monstrosity that was little more than an insult to a trained cracksman.Then from the belt came the thin metal case and a pair of tweezers.He opened the case, and with the tweezers lifted out one of the gray-coloured, diamond-shaped seals.Holding the seal with the tweezers, he moistened the gummed side with his lips, then laid it on a handkerchief which he took from his pocket, and clapped the handkerchief against the front of the safe, sticking the seal conspicuously into place.Jimmie Dale's insignia bore no finger prints.The microscopes and magnifying glasses at headquarters had many a time regretfully assured the police of that fact.
And now his hands and fingers seemed to work like lightning.Into the soft iron bit a drill--bit in and through--bit in and through again.It was dark, pitch black--and silent.Not a sound, save the quick, dull rasp of the ratchet--like the distant gnawing of a mouse! Jimmie Dale worked fast--another hole went through the face of the old-fashioned safe--and then suddenly he straightened up to listen, every faculty tense, alert, and strained, his body thrown a little forward.WHAT WAS THAT!
From the alleyway leading from the street without, through which he himself had come, sounded the stealthy crunch of feet.Motionless in the utter darkness, Jimmie Dale listened--there was a scraping noise in the rear--someone was climbing the fence that he had climbed!
In an instant the tools in Jimmie Dale's hands disappeared into their respective pockets beneath his vest--and the sensitive fingers shot to the dial on the safe.
"Too bad," muttered Jimmie Dale plaintively to himself.I could have made such an artistic job of it--I swear I could have cut Carruthers' profile in the hole in less than no time--to open it like this is really taking the poor old thing at a disadvantage."He was on his knees now, one ear close to the dial, listening as the tumblers fell, while the delicate fingers spun the knob unerringly--the other ear strained toward the rear of the premises.
Came a footstep--a ray of light--a stumble--nearer--the newcomer was inside the place now, and must have found out that the back door had been tampered with.Nearer came the steps--still nearer--and then the safe door swung open under Jimmie Dale's hand, and Jimmie Dale, that he might not be caught like a rat in a trap, darted from the office--but he had delayed a little too long.
From around the cluttered piles of junk and miscellany swept the light--full on Jimmie Dale.Hesitation for the smallest fraction of a second would have been fatal, but hesitation was something that in all his life Jimmie Dale had never known.Quick as a panther in its spring, he leaped full at the light and the man behind it.The rough voice, in surprised exclamation at the sudden discovery of the quarry, died in a gasp.
There was a crash as the two men met--and the other reeled back before the impact.Onto him Jimmie Dale sprang, and his hands flew for the other's throat.It was an officer in uniform! Jimmie Dale had felt the brass buttons as they locked.In the darkness there was a queer smile on Jimmie Dale's tight lips.It was no doubt THEofficer whom he had passed on the other side of the street.
The other was a smaller man than Jimmie Dale, but powerful for his build--and he fought now with all his strength.This way and that the two men reeled, staggered, swayed, panting and gasping; and then--they had lurched back close to the office door--with a sudden swing, every muscle brought into play for a supreme effort, Jimmie Dale hurled the other from him, sending the man sprawling back to the floor of the office, and in the winking of an eye had slammed shut the door and turned the key.