The light swung and revealed the picture. Fay studied it keenly. It was framed in the mellow age of tapestries and portières and heavy draperies. Portraits of former ambassadors stared from the walls.
The great outer door of the strong-box was open. The day door hung on one hinge. A candle glowed within the safe. A man stood on a pile of books. He was jabbing viciously at the keister door, which had resisted his stoutest efforts.
Fay realized that this man was Dutch Gus. There was that in his burly form and thick-lipped oaths to prove the fact. Two others of the German mob were arranged about the strong-box. They were gathering up tools in the belief that their leader would soon succeed in opening the inner compartment.
The professional smile which changed upon Fay’s face to supreme disgust would have caused Dutch Gus considerable concern had he seen it. Fay hated a bungler worse than a squealer. The wreckage about the embassy’s strong-box would have disgraced a gang of blacksmiths. It was the work of tyros at the game.
He waited and watched. The hour was no later than one. There was ample time to checkmate the Germans. It was evident that they had made a hasty
descent upon the embassy by order of someone high in authority. The German Government was vastly interested in getting the key to the cipher. Heaven and earth would be moved to keep it away from the English or American agents.
The swaying light of the candle inside the vault went out with a sudden puff from Dutch Gus’s lungs. A rattle of gravel sounded on the window panes at the front of the room. This rattle was repeated. A pane cracked.
There appeared at the doorway of the strong-box a face aglow with suspicion. Eyes darted toward the windows. An oath struck through the room.
Fay raised his automatic and stared forward. He had sensed with the divination of the professional what had happened. The skulker in the street was the lookout for the mob inside the embassy. He had rounded the square and thrown gravel against the windows as a prearranged signal of danger.
His voice rose on the outside. It was a tipsy call in South German: