The job was finished soon after noon on Sunday. Fay looped a wire around the plate and tapped its edges with a hammer. The last of the metal cracked. The plate swung free. The way was open.
“I’ll go down!” exclaimed Saidee.
“No, not yet. Let the things cool off. Help me get the lens apart. We’ll destroy it. We’ll clean up everything incriminating.”
“But—”
“Don’t be in such a hurry. The vault may be ‘bugged’ inside. Suppose there’s an electric mat?”
“Oh, you know best! But I’m very anxious.”
Fay took his time. He coolly moved to the front window, raised the blind an inch and looked out. Autos and trolley-cars hurried by. Policemen stood directing traffic. Tourists thronged the street.
He went to Saidee Isaacs. She helped him lift down the lens. He poured out the water, smashed the two halves with the hammer, and tossed the fragments into a box.
“They’ll never suspect what that was,” he said. “Now, give me your hand and lower me into the vault. I can’t touch the edges yet. They’re still hot!”
She braced herself over the opening, grasped his wrists, and lowered him. Her strength was considerable. He felt her face close to his own as she leaned.