Knowing that precipitancy might be fatal, he waited until he had mustered a hundred men. Seventy of these he told off to draw an inconspicuous cordon round the whole block, and thirty he sent down to cover the Tube bolt-hole at London Bridge Station. A batch of twenty of the Flying Squad arriving in a van at that moment, he sent them on to occupy a similar position at Bank Station. The mention of the word flashed a blaze of inspiration across his mind. "Bank!" he repeated to himself. "Jerusalem, what a man!" It would be some time before the men could take up their stations, and he filled in the period of inaction by smoking a cigarette with calm enjoyment, and discussing the probable result of a local bye-election with a night watchman. On the stroke of 3.45 he trod out his cigarette end, bade the watchman a cheery good-night, and made a supplementary disposition of the men who had reached the Custom House in the meanwhile. He was just leaving when Inspector Teal dashed up in a taxi, the disarray of his attire testifying to the haste of his start. "In time?" queried that officer swiftly, and Storm nodded. "To the tick. We are now going into action." They walked together to Raegenssen's block. It was just getting light. Storm paused before the door and lighted another cigarette. Then he jerked back the jacket of his automatic, slipped the safety catch, and pushed Teal to one side. "No use both of us being shot up," he said, and pressed the bell. This time there was little delay. The muffled foot-steps of the French janitor came down the passage; the three-inch bars swished back in their steel grooves; the lock clicked. As before, the door swung back a bare, suspicious two inches. Storm moved so that the light from the gas jet overhead fell across his face, and the door opened wider as the man recognised him. Storm pushed into the gap, blocking the door open with his foot. The surprised janitor felt a sinewy hand grasp his windpipe caressingly, and a menace he understood equally well glinted before his eyes. "_Sois sage--et vis!_" hissed Storm in his ear, and the man signified his acceptance of this advice. He was handed back to Mr. Teal, who in turn passed him on to a bulky shadow which rose from the ground. Storm, with Teal hard on his heels, led the way into the building, and a number of dim shapes materialised from the adjoining alley and followed them. So far, all had been admirably plain sailing, but luck was not with them that night. Storm was groping round for the switch which controlled the corridor light, when an over-eager constable tripped over the doorstep and crashed down among his fellows. The thud sounded like a detonation in the silence, and Teal turned and cursed the offender in pregnant whispers. Storm found the lever he sought, and pulled it down. "Teal--left-hand door," he called. "This way, some of you boys!"