“Wondering, Jack, who I am, or did you recognize me?” The second man had stopped before the vault door. Mike heard an infinitely faint rustling, as of thin rubber being manipulated. He guessed at rubber gloves. “I think you must’ve recognized me when I slugged you. Anyway, since I asked you to wait a minute after office hours and then hit you with a sandbag, you must have guessed, while you’ve been waiting, that I was responsible for the matter.”
There was a little pause and a slight snapping sound, as if an elastic had been flicked into place.
“Yep, Jack, I’m Saunders, your boss. Don’t mind telling you, now, because you’re not going to split on me. I’m going to loot the safe–clean, this time, and quit. By the way, Jack, I’m putting on rubber gloves, but, rather curiously, they’ll leave your fingerprints on the safe knob. You see, I’ve done this twice before. Once I got away with a lot of bullion and a few indifferent stones. That was a year and more ago and everyone’s grown careless since then. I managed to plant it so the watchman was suspected. He’s in jail now. And then, once, I fixed up the matter so that a theft of some finished stuff was discovered while I was on vacation. They never suspected me. But this time I’m going to clean out the works, all the bullion, all the stones, and tomorrow’s payroll.”
The unknown’s voice changed, and grew intent. Mike, in the dusty little closet, could hear a muted, musical tinkle, as he spun the combination knob.
“Got your fingerprints some time ago, Jack, when you knew nothing about it. I brought ’em out, photographed them, and contrived to fix them on the ends of these rubber gloves. I’ve run ’em through my hair, so they’ll be slightly oily, and they’ll convict you completely of opening the safe. I’ll have to use a microphone, myself, to hear the tumblers fall.”
Mike was listening with a curious mixture of fear and indignation and curiosity. He, himself, had a microphone apparatus in his pocket, which he had intended to use. The other man had beat him to it. Mike began to revolve a misty scheme for following the other man and taking his loot away. There was a clanking as of tiny bits of metal being fitted together.
“I rather think, Jack,”–the voice became amused,–“that you’re thinking of the trap that’s fixed for any man who breaks into the safe. Aren’t you?”–A moment of silence–“So that even if someone gets inside the vault, when he touches one of several things he’ll set off a switch, have the doors swing shut and lock on him, and ring a loud bell in police headquarters? I suggested that, Jack, and I was the one who was strong for the bell. I told ’em a burglar would be smothered in here in two hours, but with the doors closing fast on him to catch him, the police could get here, let him out and save his life, and catch him with the goods. But you forget there’s a switch to run that burglar-trap on.”
Mike, listening, found himself suddenly cold all over. If he had opened the huge vault,–as he was confident he could do,–he would never have thought of anything like that! He would have gone in, only anxious to secure his loot and depart before the watchman’s return. With luck, he would have been able, he thought, to get the big doors closed so his burglary would have gone unnoticed until morning. But when he went in, he would have touched one of a number of concealed springs. The huge doors would have swung to, relentlessly, upon him. He would have been trapped in an air-tight tomb, to batter futilely at the armor-plate barriers until the police came.
He was to get another shock.
“This afternoon, though,” said the soft voice outside, interrupted now and then by the infinitely faint musical sound of the spinning knobs, “I did a little work on that wiring. The doors will work, but the alarm won’t. The police will not be notified that a burglar is caught in the vault.”