IN WHICH THE LAST ROUND TAKES PLACE
I
It was during the next hour or two that the full value of Mr. Jerome K. Green as an acquisition to the party became apparent. Certain other preparations in honour of Peterson’s arrival were duly carried out, and then arose the question of the safe in which the all-important ledger was kept.
“There it is,” said Drummond, pointing to a heavy steel door flush with the wall, on the opposite side of the room to the big one containing Lakington’s ill-gotten treasure. “And it doesn’t seem to me that you’re going to open that one by pressing any buttons in the wall.”
“Then, Captain,” drawled the American, “I guess we’ll open it otherwise. It’s sure plumb easy. I’ve been getting gay with some of the household effects, and this bar of soap sort of caught my eye.”
From his pocket he produced some ordinary yellow soap, and the others glanced at him curiously.
“I’ll just give you a little demonstration,” he continued, “of how our swell cracksmen over the water open safes when the owners have been so tactless as to remove the keys.”
Dexterously he proceeded to seal up every crack in the safe door with the soap, leaving a small gap at the top unsealed. Then round that gap he built what was to all intents and purposes a soap dam.
“If any of you boys,” he remarked to the intent group around him, “think of taking this up as a means of livelihood, be careful of this stuff.” From another pocket he produced an india-rubber bottle. “Don’t drop it on the floor if you want to be measured for your coffin. There’ll just be a boot and some bits to bury.”
The group faded away, and the American laughed.