“The bullion!” he gasped; “the bar——” He could hardly talk, and gripped at the edge of the super’s desk to hold himself upright.
Bernritter, apparently astounded, rose to his feet. McGowan leaped at Jacobs and grabbed him by the shoulder.
“What’s the matter?” demanded the super.
“Speak out!” cried McGowan. “This ain’t a time to hang fire. What’s the matter with the bullion?”
“It’s gone!” groaned Jacobs, dropping down in a chair beside the desk.
The superintendent and the cyanid expert were playing a game and playing it well.
“Gone!” shouted McGowan. “You don’t mean to tell me that some more of my good bullion has been lifted?”
“It—it was in the laboratory,” answered Jacobs, “and—and it isn’t there now.”
“By the powers! Bernritter, what do you think of this?”
McGowan whirled on the super.