Fay nodded. “You’re very wise,” he mused, staring directly at her. “You don’t remind me of your old man, at all. He did a lot of very heavy work—such as blasting and using a can-opener. You inherited your quick-wittedness from your mother’s side, I suppose?”
“Partly.”
Fay went to work with the lens as the sun came out. He finished the first cutting by two o’clock. He lifted the plate out, after allowing it to cool. It was three quarters of an inch in thickness. Its edges were brittle as glass.
“I’ll cut away the fireproofing,” he told Saidee, “and get ready for the sun tomorrow. I expect, from what I know of the Terryton boxes, that the middle plate will be almost twice as thick as the outer one. That means a lot of burning.”
Saidee Isaacs attended to the meals. She watched the studio door in case of interruption. Once Fay saw her adjust the shade at a certain height. This shade could be seen from the street.
He recalled an old signal used by house prowlers to indicate that it was all right for pals to enter the house. The thought flashed through him that the girl had a confederate outside. He puzzled over this matter, without speaking to her about it. There seemed no reason to suspect treachery on her part.
Her interest in robbing “The Black Cougar” reached a high point when he succeeded, after two days’ work, in cutting out the second, or central, plate of the vault. This plate was an inch and a quarter in thickness. It was designed to resist drills. It was hardened on the surface and somewhat soft inside.
The fumes and smoke from the burning metal floated through the skylight. The heat of the hot spot was sufficient to vaporize most metal. Fay added to this heat the radiations from the concave mirrors. He feared, at times, that there would be indication inside the vault that work was going on above.
Saidee, on watch over the peekhole, kept him informed of “The Black Cougar’s” movements. The bucket-shop operator had not used the spool of wire for two days. He had entered the vault but twice. Each time he came out with yellow bills in his hands.
“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” said Saidee. “That’s a half-holiday for brokers. There wont be anybody in the office during the afternoon or Sunday. We must go through the last plate and get that money.”