IV

He groaned and leaped erect in the dark, his eyes wide. The images of terror that thronged his brain would not let him sleep. He rose, sure that the tools were still hitched to his belt, and groped his way to the coal pile and found the rectangular gap from which he had taken the brick. He took out the crowbar and hacked. Then dread paralyzed him. How long had he slept? Was it day or night now? He had to be careful; someone might hear him if it were day. He scraped for hours at the cement, working silently. Faintly quivering above him was the dim sound of the yelling voices. He cocked his head. Crazy people, he muttered, smiling. Having rested, the digging was not difficult now. He soon had a dozen bricks out. His spirits rose.

He took out another brick and his fingers probed empty space. Good! But what lay ahead of him? Another basement? He made the hole larger and climbed through; he walked over an uneven floor and felt a metal surface. He listened for sounds; there were none. He struck a match and saw that he was standing behind a furnace in a basement; before him, on the far side of the room, was a door. He opened it; it was full of odds and ends. Light spilled through a window above his head. Then he was aware of a soft, continuous tapping. What was it? He placed a chair beneath the window, stood upon it, and looked out into an areaway. He eased the window up and crawled through. He looked upward at a series of window ledges. He glanced about to assure himself that he was alone. The sound of the tapping came sharply now. Somebody’s using a typewriter. . . . It was coming from above him. He grasped the prongs of a rain pipe and hoisted himself; the tapping was distinct. Oh! Through a half-inch opening of window he saw a doorknob about three feet from him. No, it was not a doorknob; it was a tiny, circular disc of stainless steel with many fine markings upon it. He held his breath; he saw an eerie white hand, seemingly detached from its arm, touch the metal knob and twirl it, first to left, then to right. It was the dial of a safe! Suddenly he could see the dial no more; a huge metal door swung slowly toward him and he was looking into a safe full of green wads of paper money, rows of coins wrapped in brown paper, and jars and boxes of various sizes. His heart quickened. Good Lord. . . . The white hand went in and out of the safe, taking wads of bills and cylinders of coins. The hand vanished and he heard a muffled click as the metal door closed. Only the steel dial was visible now. The continuous sound of the typewriter still tapped in his ears. He blinked his eyes, wondering if this was real, and waited for the white hand to show again. His heart beat slowly and heavily; he bit his lips.