The three men tugged with the box, which was cubical in shape, measuring slightly more than three feet to a side. The porter and the truckman sought to bear the brunt of the work, but they were scarcely able to move it, until the stranger added his efforts.
Then the box moved easily, and the truck driver stared in amazement at the strength exhibited by the volunteer.
“Whoosh!” exclaimed the porter, when they had the box in the freight elevator. “I’m glad you showed up with this. Doc Palermo has been asking about it all afternoon. He bothers the life out of us, with his blamed boxes and packages. Rabbits, guinea-pigs — a lot of junk!”
The elevator reached the fortieth floor. Hassan, the Arab, was awaiting it. He helped the three men slide the box from the elevator, and the operator also lent a hand. With five at work, the box moved easily.
The freight elevator opened on the only entrance to Doctor Palermo’s apartment, and the men lifted the box to carry it through the opened door. Hassan urged them to the left, where an opening beside the bookcases took them into the physician’s laboratory.
The porter nodded and pointed to the stranger who had helped them. Hassan seemed to understand. He gave the man fifty cents.
The elevator operator went out with the truck driver; the stranger, after a moment’s hesitation, followed.
The porter was about to leave, but Hassan stopped him.
The porter understood that he was to open the box. He pulled a hammer from his pocket, and pried off the lid.
With Hassan’s aid, the box was turned on its side, and a bulky object wrapped in burlap slid from the packing case. Hassan gave the porter some money, and the man left.