“Well, what will you do about it?”
The girl tapped sullenly with her foot, without replying.
“Want to let that friend of yours know about me?” Brainard continued meaningly. As the stenographer tossed her head and moved again toward the telephone, he added, “Come over here where I can watch you! Quick now, pack those bundles into the bag.” As she still hesitated, defying him, he said sharply, “Get down on your knees and go to work!”
She whimpered, but fell to her knees. They worked silently for several minutes. The vault was stripped bare. The smaller papers were packed into the bag, and the bulkier stuff was stacked on the floor, ready to be thrust into another receptacle.
Brainard glanced at his watch. Peters had been gone more than a quarter of an hour. Had he been detained, or had he become suspicious and decided to get advice before going any farther? Brainard considered departing with what he had already packed in his bag, which he judged was the more important part of the safe’s contents.
“I guess it’s about time for me to be going home now,” the stenographer remarked, plucking up her courage. “I’ll leave you and Mr. Peters to lock up.”
“You want to see that friend badly, don’t you?” Brainard asked. “Not quite yet; the day’s work is not over yet. Be patient!”
He did not dare to trust her beyond his sight, nor did he think it wise to leave her behind him. The girl walked idly to the window, then edged along the wall. Beside the safe there was a recess, from which the rear door opened. When the stenographer reached this, she, darted for the door.
“Good-by!” she called. “I guess the police will take care of you!”
The little door fortunately stuck. Before she could open it, Brainard had dragged her back into the room.