He tried the knob in order to make sure that the safe was locked. He had once heard of the absurd oversight of a cracksman who had spent hours drilling into a safe that was open, and had no desire to repeat the performance. “But this one is tight enough,” he declared. He took a rug from the floor, folded it neatly, and placed it before the safe door. Then he carried the generator to a small washstand at one side of the office, and ran a quantity of water into it. Almost instantly the choking flames of the acetylene gas assailed his nostrils. “Whew!” he ejaculated, turning his head away; “if there is a more awful stench in the world than this, I’ve never encountered it.” Quickly he ignited the evil-smelling gas, and screwed the blowpipe to the generator. Then he knelt upon the rug, placed the pipe to his lips and blew through it steadily. A darting, intense flame leaped forth, like a finger of light; this Kenyon directed toward a point just above the combination knob. The varnish disappeared like magic, and the steel of the safe melted like solder before the fierce point of flame. “It works well,” said Kenyon, pausing in his blowing to inspect critically the small hole burned through the massive door. “At this rate I won’t be long on the job.” Once more he placed his lips to the blowpipe, and once more the needle of light bored its way into the steel. Larger and larger grew the hole in the safe; and at last Kenyon found it wide enough to insert his hand and arm. Placing the generator upon the floor he reached in and began manipulating the tumblers of the lock. Then he threw the door wide, and sat back upon his heels with an exclamation of satisfaction. “The inner door is easy enough,” he said, as he extinguished the generator. “Big Slim’s master-key should have no trouble in opening it--but what’s this?” He bent forward. “Why, it’s the key itself, ready to my hand.” He inserted the big key, turned it, and the inner door opened. Before him were a great number of pigeon-holes and small drawers, all filled with documents of various hues and sizes. The adventurer gazed at these, appalled. “And I don’t know what I’m looking for!” he thought. “This really promises to be a worse job than opening the safe.” However, he resolutely set to work examining the contents. By good fortune, all the packets were labelled plainly, so that he was not forced to open any. “It’s a saving of time and my feelings,” thought the cracksman. “I have no desire to investigate Mr. Farbush’s affairs any farther than they concern me.” Paper after paper, packet after packet, passed through his hands, but still no sign of anything that had the slightest interest to him. “And yet, how can I be sure of that?” he asked himself. “I never felt so helpless and incompetent to deal with a situation in my life. This,” and he turned a heavy envelope over in his hands, “might be exactly the thing I’m searching for; but how am I to know one way or the other?”