"Naw. The big one's got pipes for that kinda trouble. The little one they moved from the old building."
"It's not so darn little at that," someone said.
Another person, a man, chuckled. "Not so darn. But there isn't air in there to last three hours. Caughlin said so."
"Honest to God?"
"Honest. An' he's been there more than an hour already."
"Jeest!" There was a pregnant, pictorial silence. Someone looked at Hugo.
"What's eatin' you, Danner? Scared?"
His face was tense and his hands were opening and closing convulsively. "No," he answered. "Guess I'll go down and have a look."
He rang for an elevator in the corridor and was carried to the basement. In the small room on which the vault opened were five or six people, among them a woman who seemed to command the situation. The men were all smoking; their attitudes were relaxed, their voices hushed.
One repeated nervously: "Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ."