But Sandy’s spirits were now high enough for them both. “They won’t waste the time to take us very far,” he insisted. “And when a gang of Treasury men are turned loose on the hunt, they won’t waste any time. Come on. Let’s get those bills torn in two while we’ve got the chance. Which side are they on?”
Ken turned. “I’m right in back of you. They’re on my right—tucked into my belt.”
“Got them!” Sandy fumbled a minute, remembering to shuffle his feet as he did so. “Those rats are getting braver every minute,” he muttered. Then he sighed. “I can’t tear them by myself.”
“It needs both of us. Wait—let me help.”
It was heartbreaking work. Standing back to back, their hands almost numb, they kept laboriously at it. Ken held a bill and Sandy tore the stiff paper a fraction of an inch at a time. Fear that they might drop a piece on the floor, and expose their possession of the bills, made them doubly careful.
But finally the job was done. Ken had five halves stuffed into a back pocket, and so did Sandy. Even with their hands bound they could pull them out and drop them somewhere—if they ever got the chance.
“If we were only untied,” Ken muttered, “I could write a couple of words on each one. Dad’s name, maybe, and the word Global. That ought to be a help if—”
He stopped. There were footsteps coming down the stairs. Even through the heavy door they could hear Cal’s whining voice.
“I can’t help it if it is too early for you,” he was saying. “I have to get the truck back by eleven. That’s when he starts working.”
“If you’re worried that somebody will notice their tied hands,” Barrack said, “let’s untie them temporarily. I’ll keep a gun on them, in case they try to make a break. And it’ll just be across the sidewalk.”