“He’s got the reputation of being very clever. He’s been an usurer—for the underworld. He’s a telegraph operator and an electrician of sorts. I think he was mixed up with Larry Anderson and ‘Blondie’ in a phantom-circuit around a pool-room’s fast wire. I expected to find the vault protected on top, but they overlooked that. Queer, isn’t it, that a clever man like him—a fiend for money and a brain-worker of the first class—should neglect an important trifle?”
Saidee Isaacs said: “They all overlook the essential trifle. We must be careful we don’t overlook anything. I’m not afraid of the police half as much as ‘The Black Cougar.’”
Fay glanced at the matting over the trapdoor. “You’re sure there’s going to be two hundred thousand in the vault?”
“His last statement given to the post-office authorities showed that much, or more, balance. He also has money with the Coast National.”
“How do you know?”
“It was in the newspapers three weeks ago when the trial was going on.”
Fay was satisfied with the girl’s answer. He heard her moving around in the dark-room. He rolled the grass matting to one side and lifted the trapdoor over the vault.
The bright sunlight illuminated the room. A beam reflected from the mirrors on the scaffolding. The city roared beyond the locked door.
Fay drew a piece of blue chalk from his pocket, knelt down on the vanadium steel plate and carefully outlined an oblong—three feet long and two feet wide. He rose and stared at his design. He went to work filling the hollow lens with water. Saidee mixed the plaster of Paris. The edges were quickly sealed. A small opening was left at the top. Through this aperture the air rushed out as the liquid ran in. This hole was finally stopped with chewing-gum.
“Useful stuff,” said the girl. “With that and a hairpin you could fix anything.”