“Ye can’t come in here at all, at all!” exclaimed a big Irish policeman, blockading their path.
“We’re reporters from the Leader,” said Mr. Newton.
“Can’t help it if ye are editors from the Tail-Ender!” the bluecoat went on, with a smile at his own wit. “Orders are I’m t’ let not a sowl in at all, at all!”
“That’s all right, Pat,” said a sergeant of police, coming up at that juncture, and seeing how matters were. “These are not ordinary persons, you know,” with a smile at Mr. Newton and the others. “They’re reporters.”
“Well, if ye says it’s all right, it’s all right,” the policeman said to his superior. “Ye kin go in,” he added grandly to the newspaper men, as he stepped aside.
It took but a glance to show what had happened. Burglars had blown the massive door of the safe open, by using some powerful explosive. Then with tools they had pried open the inner doors, and had taken whatever suited their fancy. Larry wondered that the explosion had not wrecked the store, in the center of which the safe stood. He spoke of this to Mr. Newton.
“Those fellows used just enough explosive to crack the door, but not enough to do any damage outside,” said the older reporter.
Mr. Newton, who was in general charge of getting the story, soon made his plans. A few questions he put to one of the members of the firm who was on hand, showed him how the affair had occurred. The burglars had entered by forcing a rear window. They had placed a screen up in front of the safe, so that when the policeman on the beat looked in through the front door, as he frequently did during his rounds, he could not see the thieves at work.
“Have you a night watchman?” asked Mr. Newton of the firm member, Robert Jamison.
“Yes, and that’s the queer part of it. He claims he was chloroformed by the thieves early in the evening, or at least by one of them. We sent him home, as he is quite ill from the effects of the drug.”