will stop the other one. Staying inside?”
“I’ll come with you.”
They went out again. Harry looked sharply at Roger when he opened the door, but didn’t speak. They stood in darkness on the landing. Then Harry put down a light switch; subdued light came on. Nothing stirred, there was no sound. Harry began to roam about the landing, looking towards the ceiling. He didn’t have to look far. A box was fastened to the wall, near the ceiling, just beyond the doorway from which the woman had stared at Roger. He brought up a chair; it wasn’t high enough. He pointed to an oak chest, and they carried it to the wall and then placed the chair on top of it. Harry still wasn’t satisfied, took the chair away and brought a cloth from a large table. He spread the cloth over the chest; that wasn’t to prevent scratching; he took infinite pains to be silent.
He could reach the box comfortably, now. He opened it gently, and inside a large brass bell gleamed. He worked on it for five minutes; they were nerve-racking minutes. Then he turned and whispered:
“Hand me down!”
Roger gave him a hand.
“Okay now,” said Harry. “Let’s get back.”
They went across to the wall-safe, and Harry put a cold chisel between the wainscoting and the wall, and levered part of the wainscoting away. Wood groaned and splintered, but he went on until he had room to work behind it. He had laid bare the electric cable leading to the safe. He put on the asbestos gloves again and took a pair of wire cutters with insulated handles. He cut the cable quickly; the powerful jaws snapped through at one nip. There was a fierce blue flash and a hissing sound; that was all. Harry nodded with satisfaction, straightened up, and turned his attention to the wall-safe. He could have spent time trying to find the right combination; he didn’t but took out a compact-looking instrument like a blow-lamp. It was fastened to a small iron cylinder by a long rubber cable. He fiddled with the blow-lamp for a few minutes, and then pressed a lever; a tongue of white- hot flame spat out towards the circular handle.
“Glasses,” he said, and then growled: “Only one pair. Look away.” He put on a pair of goggles and then turned his attention earnestly to the safe. Roger turned his back on him. Bluish white light filled the room with a garish brightness. He smelt something; molten metal? He was tempted to turn and watch, but knew that it would be crazy, he wouldn’t be able to see for an hour or more if he if looked at the flame with his eyes unprotected, so he stared at the door.
He saw the handle turn.
CHAPTER XX III
THE flame hissed and glowed as Harry knelt by the safe, intent, unaware of the movement at the door.
The handle turned slowly.
Roger moved towards it. The door was locked, was light-proof and sound-proof. Why had anyone come ? Why was the handle being turned so cautiously? Had Kennedy returned, with suspicions at fever-pitch? Roger waited, watching the handle in that garish light. It didn’t fall back, and instead the door began to open.
It opened slowly and slightly, not wide enough for anyone to look into the room, but wide enough for them to see the light and know that burglars were here. It stayed open; the handle didn’t move again. He wanted to warn Harry, but a call, even a whisper, would warn whoever was outside. He stepped a pace nearer and glanced over his shoulder. Harry bent low over the safe. The flame dazzled Roger, and he averted his gaze quickly; that glance had been folly.
He closed his eyes to shut out the image of that fierce flame, opened them again cautiously. Door and handle were blurred, but he could see that the door was still open, and the handle hadn’t dropped back into position.
It began to move——
The door began to close.
He waited for ten pulsating seconds, then stepped towards it swiftly. Harry said something he didn’t catch. The hissing stopped, and only the subdued light of the lamps was on.
“What——” Began Harry.
Roger waved a hand to silence him, reached the door and turned the handle as stealthily as it had just been turned. He heard Harry grunt as he straightened up, glanced over his shoulder and saw the man approaching. He waved him back again. He opened the door an inch. A light was on in the passage, but no one stood outside the door.
“What is it?” hissed Harry.
“Someone outside. Quiet.” The whisper was agonizing, because it might be heard. He opened the door a little wider and looked round. He saw a bright light coming from a door which was closing—Kennedy’s wife’s door. He saw her shadow on the landing; then it was shut out. Harry was close behind him. “Who——”
“Hold it. Watch.” Roger went across the landing, heart thumping, touched the handle of the other door and pushed —she hadn’t locked it yet. He heard a ting !; a telephone being lifted. He thrust the door open. Kennedy’s wife, so small and exquisite, stood by the side of a bed in a luxury S room. The telephone was at her ear, her great eyes were staring towards the door. At sight of Roger, she drew herself up and terror flared in those eyes. But she didn’t take !; the telephone from her ear. Instead, she grabbed at something on the silken pillow—an automatic pistol. She didn’t speak.
She hadn’t had time to finish dialling. Harry said:
