“But—but,” the clerk protested. “If the court has granted this injunction, I don’t suppose I ought to—” “That’s just why you ought!” Brainard interrupted impatiently. “Don’t you see this is Krutzmacht’s one chance of getting his property out of their reach? Once the court puts hands on it, there won’t be much left for the owner!” Without further delay he strode into the inner office, saying lightly: “Krutzmacht is keeping out of sight for the present—until trouble blows over, you see.” “The safe’s locked,” the clerk objected weakly, “and no one here has the combination. Mr. Snell didn’t leave it.” Without taking the trouble to reply, Brainard walked over to the heavy steel door and began twirling the knob as if he had opened office safes all his life. The clerk and the stenographer stared while the little nickel wheel revolved in Brainard’s fingers. When finally the bolts shot back and the door swung open, Peters gasped: “But how will you get all that stuff out of here?” “Just bring me that bag from the other room, will you please?” Brainard asked the stenographer. As she turned unwillingly to fetch the bag, there came a loud, resolute knock at the door of the outer office. “There!” the old clerk exclaimed. The stenographer started for the door, but Brainard with one leap overtook her, pushed her back into the inner room, and closed the door. Again the knocking on the outside door came, even more insistently, and the knob was rattled as if the visitor was determined to gain entrance. The three in the inner office stood still listening, not speaking. Brainard noticed an angry red flush spread over the woman’s features. As no further knocking came after a few moments, Brainard turned to the stenographer sternly. “You can sit at that desk, miss. I’ll answer the door. Come on, Mr. Peters, and show me the most important things in here—the papers Krutzmacht’s enemies would hate to lose. You know them, don’t you?” “Some of them,” the clerk admitted, rather doubtfully, his eyes running over the close-packed shelves of the vault. “They’re ’most all valuable in here, I suppose. The general papers are kept in the other vault downstairs. But the most important are in these drawers.” He pulled out several receptacles that seemed crammed with engraved certificates and legal papers. “Mr. Krutzmacht kept all his personal papers up here where he could get at them day or night,” he explained. “I guess it’s all valuable to some one!” he concluded hopelessly. “I can’t put it all in that bag,” Brainard observed, his eye running over the contents of the well-filled vault. “Well, let’s try the drawers first—the cream is likely to be there.”