The fire chief took charge of the job of breaking into the vault.  First Wagnalls attempted to open the combination of the farther door, but the heat had put the tumblers out of commission.  Returning to the entrance of the negative vault itself, the thin steel, manufactured for fire rather than burglar protection, was punctured and the bolts driven back.  A cloud of noxious fumes greeted the workers and delayed them, but they persisted.  Finally the door fell out with a crash and men were set to fanning fresh air into the interior while a piece of chemical apparatus was held in readiness for any further outbreak of the conflagration.

Manton regained control of himself in time to be one of the first to enter.  Mackay held back, but the fire chief, the promoter, Kennedy, and myself fashioned impromptu gasmasks of wet handkerchiefs and braved the hot atmosphere inside the room.

The damage was irremediable.  The steel frames of the racks, the cheaper metal of the boxes, the residue of the burning film, all constituted a hideous, shapeless mass clinging against the sides and in the corners and about the floor.  Only one section of the room retained the slightest suggestion of its original condition.  The little table and the boxes of negative records, the edges of the racks which had stood at either side, showed something of their former shape and purpose.  This was directly beneath the ventilating opening.  Here the chemical mixture pumped in to extinguish the fire had preserved them to that extent.

All at once Kennedy nudged the fire chief.  “Put out your torch!” he directed, sharply.

In the darkness there slowly appeared here and there on the walls a ghostly bluish glow persisting in spite of the coating of soot on everything.

Kennedy’s keen eye had caught the hint of it while the electric torch had been flashed into some corner and away for a moment.

“Radium!” I exclaimed, entirely without thought.

Kennedy laughed.  “Hardly!  But it is phosphorus, without question.”

“What do you make of that?” The fire chief was curious.

“Let’s get out!” was Kennedy’s reply.

Indeed, it was almost impossible for us to keep our eyes open, because of the smarting, and, more, the odor was nauseating.  A guard was posted and in the courtyard, disregarding the curious crowd about, Kennedy asked for Wagnalls and began to question him.

“When did you close the vaults?”

“About two hours before the fire.  Mr. Manton sent for me.”

“Was there anything suspicious at that time?”

“No, sir!  I went through each room myself and fixed the doors.  That’s why the fire was confined to the negatives.”

“Have you any idea why the doors were open when we went through?”

“No, sir!  I left them shut and the boy I put there while I went over to McCann’s said no one was near.  He”—­Wagnalls hesitated.  “Once he went to sleep when I left him there.  Perhaps he dozed off again.”