“Keep your face shut now, will you?” he said, and went to pick up his lantern again.
He approached the big iron safe as a man approaches his chosen work. Van Nesten watched him making his arrangements—inspecting, tapping, and fingering about—as deftly, accurately, and readily as a skilful artisan.
He never paused for an instant and his tools seemed ready to his hand. Finally he prepared something with a few sharp clicks, and then he dropped down to his knees and began to work—drilling.
Van Nesten did not at all enjoy his situation, but the pain from his thongs soon gave way to a numbness, and then he did not suffer so much. The only sound for several moments was the dull grind of the burglar’s drill.
Suddenly the burglar stopped his work and began to snuff at the air. He laid down his tools and raised his face toward the ceiling.
“By God!” he cried excitedly, and sprang to his feet. “What’s this smoke?”
Van Nesten not only smelled it, but saw that it was pouring into the room through the open door.
“This place is afire!” said the burglar.
Like a flash Van Nesten’s mind went back and he remembered himself drunkenly ascending those stairs and lighting matches to try and find the way. He remembered now that when he had entered the office there had been no match left in his pocket. He gave a great wrench at his thongs—but they held him fast. Van Nesten groaned.
The burglar was down on the floor again, gathering up his implements. He was defter and quicker now than ever, and Van Nesten, in a cold sweat, sat watching him.