"Wall, you bane fine fallers," growled Jensen, puffing like a furnace, in his fury. "You cannot go up agane."
"We'll get fired for the mistake," pleaded the helper.
"Just this once," urged the driver, as he rattled some loose change in his pocket. "Here—there goes a whole day's tips."
He handed Jens a dollar in small change.
Still grumpy but mollified by the silver Jens let them go up and opened the door to our rooms again. There stood the cabinet, as outwardly innocent as when it came in.
Lugging and tugging they managed to get the heavy piece of furniture out and downstairs again, loading it on the wagon. Then they drove off with it, accompanied by a parting volley from Jensen.
In an unfrequented street, perhaps half a mile away, the wagon stopped. With a keen glance around, the driver and his helper made sure that no one was about.
"Such a shaking up as you've given me!" growled a voice as the cabinet door opened. "But I've got him this time!"
It was the Clutching Hand.
"There, men, you can leave me here," he ordered.