The reporter caught hold of the other, and Peters followed, tugging at the heavy bag. As they crossed the inner office, there was not a sound. Brainard hesitated at the door, thinking that he must release the girl before he left; but as he stood before the safe, there was a squeal from within which indicated sufficient liveliness on the part of the stenographer. There would be time enough to attend to her after he had got his loot to the street. If she were released now, her temper might prove to be troublesome; so he joined the others on the landing, closing the little door behind him. “The old man used to get out this way sometimes,” Peters observed. “I reckon he never will again,” the reporter laughed. The hall opened on a narrow, circular iron staircase, without a single light. Down this pit Brainard and the reporter plunged, tugging at the trunk, which threatened to stick at every turn. The old man got on more easily with the bag, which he merely allowed to slide after him. Brainard was soaked in perspiration; the reporter puffed and swore, but he stuck manfully at his job. At last they tumbled out into the dark alley at the rear of the building. After he had caught his breath, Brainard inquired where he could find a cab. “If I were you, young man,” the reporter replied, “I wouldn’t try being a swell. I’d take the first rig I could charter. There’s one over there now.” He pointed down the alley, and waded off into the dark. Presently he returned with a plumber’s wagon. “He says he’ll land your baggage at the ferry for four bits. You can ride or walk behind, just as you like.” They loaded the trunk and the bag into the wagon, and the reporter, perching himself beside the driver, announced genially: “I’ll see you aboard!” “How much time is there left?” Brainard asked. “Thirty-two minutes—you can do it easily in twenty-five.” “Wait a minute, then!” Brainard took Peters to one side, and said to him in a low voice: “You remember that noise you heard up there in the office? It came from the girl—the stenographer. She got fresh while you were out, and I had to lock her up in the safe to keep her quiet. I think there is enough air to last her some time yet; but her last squeal was rather faint. Suppose you run up and let her out!” Peters, with a scared look on his face, made one bound for the stairs. “Hold on, man!” Brainard shouted after him. “You don’t know the combination. Here it is!” He searched in his pockets for the slip of paper on which he had copied the figures, but in the dark he could not find it. “This ain’t any automobile,” the reporter suggested. “You’d better put off your good-bys until the next time!” “Try to remember what I say,” Brainard said to the frightened Peters, and began repeating the combination from memory. “I’m pretty sure that’s right. Say it over! There, again!” The shaking man repeated the figures three or four times.