“Hello, Jerry. What kind of a job?” asked Tom.
“Neat. Professional, all right. Cut up the safe with oxyacetylene torch. Easy as opening a can of peas.”
“H’m,” said Tom as he entered the place. “Not much of a safe. Easy money, I’d say. But we’ll try to make ’em pay. We usually do, in the end, don’t we, Jerry?”
“I’ll say you do, Tom,” Jerry grinned. “Who’s the Boy Scout?” He eyed Jimmie suspiciously.
“He’s from the Press,” Tom explained. “Special friend of mine. Keen with his candid camera. Only person that’s ever photographed the Silent Terror.”
“The Terror!” Jerry whistled through his teeth. The look he bestowed upon Jimmie was one of genuine respect.
“All right, Jerry,” Tom said with a grin. “Strike a pose so Jimmie can get a picture. Usual stuff. Stand and point at the wrecked safe.”
Jerry smiled. Then his face sobered as he struck the pose.
Jimmie got his picture, three shots. Not quite satisfied with the “usual stuff” he wandered about the small room looking for others. In the corner, propped against the wall was a section of the safe containing the lock.
“Got in their way, so they removed it,” Jerry chuckled.