It was in the little pause which followed that some one in the corridor rapped smartly on the locked door.  At the sound, Gryson collapsed and his face became an ashen mask of fear.  Blount, the law-abiding, might have hesitated, but this newer Blount had slain his scruples.  Snatching Gryson out of his chair, he thrust him silently through the half-open door of the work-room, and a moment later he was answering the rap at the corridor entrance, opening the door and calmly facing the two policemen on the threshold.

“Well?” he said brusquely.

One of the men touched his helmet.

“We’re looking for a felly that ducked in below a couple of hours ago, Mr. Blount.  He’s in the building, somewheres, and your office being lighted, we thought maybe you’d—­”

Blount threw the door wide.

“You can see for yourselves,” he said.  “Would you like to come in and look around?”

“Sure not; your word’s as good as the search, Mr. Blount.  ’Twas only on the chance that he might have faked an excuse and ducked in on you to be out of reach.”

Blount left the door open and went to get his coat and hat.

“Who is the man?” he asked, while the officers lingered.

“A felly named Gryson.  He’s been working in the railroad shops what times he wasn’t pullin’ off something crooked in the p’litical line.”

“What is he wanted for?” Blount was closing his desk and preparing to leave the office.

“Croaking a bank watchman up in Montana afther he’d souped the vault door for a kick-shot.”

“In that case, perhaps I’m lucky that he didn’t drop in and croak me,” laughed Blount, turning off the lights and joining the two men in the corridor.  And then:  “There is a back stair to the engine-room in the basement in the other wing of the building:  have you been watching that?”

The bigger of the two policemen prodded the other in the ribs with his night-stick.  “That’s on us, Jakey.  He’ll have been gone hours ago.  Let’s be drilling.  ’Tis a fine mind ye have, Mr. Blount, to be thinking of thim back stairs right off the bat.”  And the pair went down in the elevator with Blount, chuckling to themselves at their own discomfiture.

Having set his hand to the plough, Blount did nothing carelessly.  Sauntering slowly, and even pausing to light a cigar, he trailed the two policemen until they were safely in another street.  Then he turned back to the great office building and once more had himself lifted to the upper floor.  In the office corridor he waited until the car had dropped out of sight; waited still longer to give the drowsy night-boy time to settle himself on his stool and go to sleep.  Then he went swiftly to the door of the private room and unlocked it.

Gryson was ready, and even in the dim light of the corridor Blount could see that he was white-faced and trembling.  In the silent faring to the stair which wound down in a spiral around the freight elevator Blount gripped the arm of trembling.