“Drive around in front of the Vesper Club slowly,” said Kennedy as the driver at last looked up.

The van lumbered ahead, and we followed it casually.  Around the corner it turned.  We turned also.  My heart was going like a sledge-hammer as the critical moment approached.  My head was in a whirl.  What would that gay throng back of those darkened windows down the street think if they knew what was being prepared for them?

On, like the Trojan horse, the van lumbered.  A man went into the Vesper Club, and I saw the negro at the door eye the oncoming van suspiciously.  The door banged shut.

The next thing I knew, Kennedy had ripped off his disguise, had flung himself up behind the van, and had swung the doors open.  A dozen men with axes and sledge-hammers swarmed out and up the steps of the club.

“Call the reserves, O’Connor,” cried Kennedy.  “Watch the roof and the back yard.”

The driver of the van hastened to send in the call.

The sharp raps of the hammers and the axes sounded on the thick brass-bound oak of the out-side door in quick succession.  There was a scurry of feet inside, and we could hear a grating noise and a terrific jar as the inner, steel door shut.

“A raid!  A raid on the Vesper Club!” shouted a belated passer-by.  The crowd swarmed around from Broadway, as if it were noon instead of midnight.

Banging and ripping and tearing, the outer door was slowly forced.  As it crashed in, the quick gongs of several police patrols sounded.  The reserves had been called out at the proper moment, too late for them to “tip off” the club that there was going to be a raid, as frequently occurs.

Disregarding the melee behind me, I leaped through the wreckage with the other raiders.  The steel door barred all further progress with its cold blue impassibility.  How were we to surmount this last and most formidable barrier?

I turned in time to see Kennedy and O’Connor hurrying up the steps with a huge tank studded with bolts like a boiler, while two other men carried a second tank.

“There,” ordered Craig, “set the oxygen there,” as he placed his own tank on the opposite side.

Out of the tanks stout tubes led, with stop-cocks and gages at the top.  From a case under his arm Kennedy produced a curious arrangement like a huge hook, with a curved neck and a sharp beak.  Really it consisted of two metal tubes which ran into a sort of cylinder, or mixing chamber, above the nozzle, while parallel to them ran a third separate tube with a second nozzle of its own.  Quickly he joined the ends of the tubes from the tanks to the metal hook, the oxygen-tank being joined to two of the tubes of the hook, and the second tank being joined to the other.  With a match he touched the nozzle gingerly.  Instantly a hissing, spitting noise followed, and an intense blinding needle of flame.

“Now for the oxy-acetylene blowpipe,” cried Kennedy as he advanced toward the steel door.  “We’ll make short work of this.”