“What do you want me to do, guv’nor?” he said at last.
“Open a safe amongst other things,” answered Drummond. “Have you brought your tools and things?”
“Yus—I’ve brought the outfit,” muttered the other. “Where is the safe? ’Ere?”
“No, Martin, not here. Some distance away in fact. We shall start in about an hour. Until then you will stop in this room. You can have a whisky-and-soda, and my friend here will stay with you. He has a gun, Martin, so remember what I said. No monkey tricks.”
With fascinated eyes the crook watched the speaker rise and cross to an inner door. Standing, he seemed more huge than ever, and Martin gave a sigh of relief as the door closed behind him.
“I reckon ’e wouldn’t win a prize as a blinking dwarf,” he remarked hoarsely to Jerningham. “I say, mister, wot abaht that there whisky-and-soda?”
The entrance to Number 5, Green Street, proved easier than Drummond had expected—so easy as to be almost suspicious. No lights shone in the windows above: the house seemed completely deserted. Moreover, the door into the street was unbolted, and without a moment’s hesitation Drummond opened it and stepped inside, followed by Martin and Ted Jerningham. The long black cloak had been discarded; only the black mask concealed his face, as the three men stood inside the door, listening intently. Not a sound was audible, and after a moment or two Drummond felt his way cautiously through the downstairs office towards the flight of stairs that led to the rooms above. And it was just as his foot was on the first stair that a sudden noise behind him made him draw back sharply into the darkness behind the counter, with a warning whisper to the other two to follow his example.
The front door had opened again; someone else had come in. They could see nothing, and the only sound seemed to be the slightly quickened breathing of Ted Jerningham, whose nerve was not quite as good as the others at affairs of this sort. Then came the sound of bolts being shot home, and footsteps coming into the office.
With a whispered “Stay there,” Drummond glided across towards the door like a shadow, moving with uncanny silence for such a big man. And a moment or two afterwards someone came into the office. Jerningham, crouching against the crook behind the counter, could see the outline of a figure framed in the faint light that filtered in from a street lamp through the fanlight over the door. Then there was a click, and the electric light was switched on.
For a second the newcomer failed to see them; then, with a sudden gasp he stiffened, and stood staring at them rigidly. It was Cohen, the unpleasant little clerk, returning from an evening out, which accounted for the front door having been unbolted. And undoubtedly his luck was out. Because, having seen the two of them there behind the counter, he somewhat naturally failed to look for anybody else. It would not have made any great difference if he had, but the expression on his face as he felt two enormous hands close gently but firmly round his throat from behind caused even the phlegmatic Ginger to chuckle grimly.
“Out with the light,” snapped Drummond, “then help me lash him up and gag him.”
It was done quickly and deftly, and for the second time in a week the wretched Cohen was laid under his own counter to cool. It had been carried out as noiselessly as possible, but it was five minutes before Drummond again led the way cautiously up the stairs. And during that five minutes the three men listened with every sense alert, striving to differentiate between the ordinary street noises and anything unusual in the house above them. But not even Drummond’s ears, trained as they had been for many nights in No Man’s Land, could detect anything. All seemed as quiet as the grave.
“It probably is empty except for that little rat,” he whispered to Jerningham. “But we’ll take no chances.”
In single file they crept up the stairs, Drummond leading. The door at the top was ajar, and for a while they stood in the carpeted passage above listening again.
“Along this passage are the clerks’ offices,” he explained in a low voice to the other two. “At the far end is another door which we shall probably find locked. Beyond that is the inner office, which we want.”
“Well, let’s get on wiv it, guv’nor,” muttered Ginger Martin hoarsely. “There’s no good in ’anging abaht.”
Drummond switched on his electric torch, and flashed it cautiously round. Doors leading off the passage were open in most cases, and all the rooms were empty; it was obvious that none of the staff were about. And yet he felt an indefinable sense of danger, which he tried in vain to shake off. Somehow or other, he felt certain that they were not alone—that there were other people in the house, besides the trussed up clerk below. But Ginger Martin had no such presentiments, and was rapidly becoming impatient. To open the door at the end of the passage, if it should prove to be locked, was such child’s play as to be absolutely contemptible. He wanted to get on with the safe, which might take time, instead of fooling round in a passage listening for mice.
At last Drummond moved slowly forward with the other two just behind him. Whatever he may have thought he had every intention of going through with the job, and delay in such cases only tends to turn vague fears into certain realities. Gently he tried the door at the end of the passage; as he had anticipated it was locked.
“ ’Old the light, guv’nor, so that it shines on the blinkin’ key-’ole!” said Ginger Martin impatiently.
