But Peters had already disappeared into the darkness within the building. Brainard climbed into the plumber’s wagon, the man whipped up his horse, and they jolted out of the alley. As they came in sight of the ferry building, the reporter compared his watch with the clock, and remarked:
“Eight minutes to the good—fast traveling for a plumber!”
“Just look out for my stuff while I telephone!” Brainard exclaimed.
All the way to the ferry he had been anxious about the girl in the safe. He had already resolved that if he found Peters had failed to open the safe, he would go back and run the risk of capture.
When the operator rang up the number of Krutzmacht’s private office, there was an agonizing wait before any one answered. Finally a woman’s voice, very faint, called:
“Who is it?”
Prudence counseled Brainard to assume that the voice was that of the stenographer, and to hang up the receiver. But he wished to make sure that it was the woman herself, and so he asked:
“Are you feeling all right, miss?”
“You thief!” came hissing over the wire to his ear. “You won’t get—” And there was no more.
She had dropped the receiver, probably for action. When Brainard stepped from the telephone booth, he looked uneasily in the direction of Market Street, as if he expected to see the stenographer flying through the hurrying crowd. The reporter beckoned to him.