“It's no use!” Britt gulped. “The time lock must be on.”
“Oh, for the rod of Moses and the ancient faith that smote the rock in twain!” pleaded the Prophet.
“We'd better use rendrock, seeing that we can't depend on a miracle,” called a practical citizen from behind the grille.
“Get sledge hammers and chisels,” shouted somebody else, and there followed a surging of the throng, indicating that concerted action was following the suggestion.
The face of the president was twisted by grimaces which resembled spasms. “Wait! Wait a moment! There may be a way!” he called, chokingly. “Let me out through there!”
Then Vona gave over her insane efforts to pry open the vault door with her finger nails. She ran out past Starr, who stopped to lock the grille door. The examiner was too much taken up by other matters to bother with the Prophet, who held to his place at the vault door and was intently scrutinizing something which he found of interest.
Vona forced herself through the press, in company with Starr, and was at Britt's elbow when he unlocked his office door. He tried to keep her out and called to Dorsey. But she slipped past while the door was open to admit Starr's bulky form. Inside, she turned on Britt, who was in the doorway.
“You don't dare to keep me out, Mr. Britt!” She stamped her foot. Her eyes blazed. “You don't dare!”
He blinked and entered and locked the door.