Yet what was to be done? If the documents were produced at once, how could I save them from destruction?
A bold dash for them seemed the only way. Once snatched from Holtzmann's or Aaron Woodward's hands, and escape through the window or the door would be difficult, but not impossible.
Yet while I was revolving these thoughts over in my mind the same thing evidently suggested itself to the proprietor of the Palace of Pleasure.
"Wait till I lock the door," he said. "We don't want to be interrupted."
"No indeed," returned Mr. Woodward; "interruptions don't pay."
"And I'll close the window, too," went on Holtzmann; "it's cool enough without having it open."
"So it is."
So the window and the door were both closed and fastened. I was chagrined, but could do nothing.
A moment later I heard Chris Holtzmann at his safe, and then the rattle of something on his desk.
"The papers are in this tin box," he said. "I placed them there over six months ago."