The sleepy elevator-man had to be shaken awake, and when he had set the car in motion he let it run past the designated floor.  Blount swore impatiently, and instead of waiting to be carried back, darted out and ran to the stairway.  When he reached the lower corridor and was hurrying toward his suite in the corner of the building, there was a dull crash, as of a muffled explosion, and two or three of the glass doors in the street-fronting suite were shattered.  Blount quickened his pace to a run, let himself in by means of his latch-key, and, cautiously opening his desk, groped in an inner drawer for the revolver which Gantry had persuaded him to buy as a part of the office furnishings.

With the weapon in hand, he pushed through the unlatched door into Collins’s room.  There was an acrid odor of dynamite fumes in the air, and when he pressed on to the third room of the suite the gases were stifling.  His first act was to feel for the switch and cut in the electric lights.  The third room, which had doors of communication with his own office and Collins’s, was a wreck.  Desks were broken open, and the safe-door had been blown from its hinges.

Blount saw the figure of a small man with his cap pulled down over his ears bending over the wrecked cash-box.  At the upblazing of the ceiling lights, the man sprang to his feet and fled, going out through the door by which Blount had just entered, and snapping the light-switch as he passed to leave the rooms in darkness.

Blount was cursing his own lack of presence of mind when he turned to follow the escaping burglar.  In the darkness he fell over a chair, and by the time he had disentangled himself and had reached the corridor the safe-blower was gone.  Racing to the elevator, Blount rang the bell until the sleepy car-tender set the machinery in motion and lifted himself to the floor of happenings.  Here the incident ended abruptly, so far as any helpful discoveries were concerned.  The elevator-man had carried no one down, and he confessed shamefacedly that he had again been asleep, and could not say whether or not anybody had descended the stair which circled the elevator-shaft.

Blount went back to his office, turned in a police alarm, and waited until a policeman came from the nearest station.  Then he went to report the safe-blowing in person to the night captain on duty in the basement of the City Hall.  A drowsy clerk took notes of the story, and the night captain contented himself with asking a single question.

“Do you know how much you lost, Mr. Blount?”

“Nothing of any great consequence, I imagine,” said Blount, remembering, with an inward thrill of thankfulness, the morning impulse which had prompted him to transfer the one thing of inestimable consequence to the security of the bank safe-deposit box.  Then he added:  “There was a little money in the box, and some papers of no especial value to anybody.  Just the same, captain, I want that man caught.”