Fay washed up and put on his coat.
“I’ll attend to our getaway,” he said. “I’ll bring a lot of tourist folders and lay them around the reception-room. They’ll all indicate to the average sleuth that we fled to Seattle and from there took an Alaskan boat.”
“There isn’t a dick in this town who wouldn’t fall for that,” she said. “The detectives I’ve met are a lot of boobs. There’s only one or two in the Secret Service who are any good.”
“Old Triggy Drew?”
“Yes, and Marway—the man who was never seen by a criminal.”
Fay opened the door.
“I’ve heard of him,” he said going out.
The railroad and steamship folders were secured. Saidee’s inspection of her room at the hotel, and a general search of the photograph studio for overlooked clues, left Saturday and Sunday for work. It was that period of the California summer when the sun is brightest. The girl reported the office below clear of clerks and customers. The janitress came and scrubbed up. The watchman made his rounds. The time-lock on the vault’s outer door had been set by “The Black Cougar” so that no one could open it until Monday morning.
Fay took the chance. He went through the inner plate Saturday afternoon. He burned a larger hole, set the lens and allowed the high swing of the overhead sun to trace out a line. Smoke and vapor rose from the sizzling pencil of light. Drops of molten metal fell within the vault, the floor of which was not carpeted.