Criminals -- Fiction; New York (N.Y.) -- Fiction; Robbery -- Fiction
It was not long before that victim responded to the call. On the
departure of the manager from the room Grace Lee rose, and with a
conscious look toward the two clerks, slipped across the floor to the
open door of the safe room. Entering, she swung to the door, which
closed with a snap; then, with just a moment of hesitation, in which she
seemed to be trying to regain her breath, she passed quickly across to
the safe and took up her stand before it. So directly and so quickly had
she done this that she had not seen the slim, immovable figure drawn up
against the wall at her right behind the projection of a large bookcase.
Nor did any influence for good or evil cause her to turn after she had
reached the safe. All her thoughts, all her hopes, all the dreams which
she had cherished seemed to be concentrated in the blank, eyeless object
which confronted her, impenetrable to all appearance--a block of steel
without visible opening--an enigma among safes--the problem of all
problems to every cracksman in town but one--which was about to be
solved if one could judge from the thrill which now shook her, and in
shaking her communicated the same excitement to the silent, breathless,
determined man in her rear, watching her as the tiger watches the
quarry, and with the same tiger spring latent in his eye. In a moment
her secret would be out, and then----
CHAPTER XIII
"_I am from headquarters_"
For just a minute Grace Lee paused before the blank door of the safe,
then she passed around to an unused speaking tube in the neighboring
wall. Halting before it, in low but distinct tones she began to sing the
famous aria from "The Magic Flute."
All agog, with eyes starting and ears alert, the man behind listened and
watched. Nothing happened.
Then came a change. Gradually her voice rose, sweet and piercing, till
it reached that famous F in alt so rarely attempted, so exciting to the
ear when fairly taken and fairly held. Grace Lee could take it, and as
it hung, sweet and deliciously thrilling in the air, Beau Johnson saw,
to his amazement, though he was in a way prepared for it, the heavy safe
door slip softly ajar. She had done it with her voice. How, he could
only vaguely guess. He was better educated than most of his class, or he
could not have understood it at all. As it was, he laid it to the
vibration caused by a certain definite note acting on some delicate
mechanism set in accord with that note, which mechanism starting another
and a stronger one gradually led up to that which drew the bolts and set
the door ajar. Whether his theory were true or not mattered little at
the moment. The event for which he waited had been accomplished and
accomplished before his eyes. To profit by it was his next thought, and
to this end he held himself ready for the spring which had laid latent
in his eyes since he first saw her advance toward the safe.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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