Gladiator by Philip Wylie (recommended reading .txt) 📕

telephone on the wall and said: “Gi’ me the inside of the vault. Hello.⁠ ⁠… Hello? You there? Are you all right?⁠ ⁠… Try that combination again.” The safe-expert held the wire and waited. Not even the faintest sounds of the attempt were audible in the front room. “Hello? You tried it?⁠ ⁠… Well, see if those numbers are in this order.” He repeated a series of complicated directions. Finally he hung up. “Says it’s getting pretty stuffy in there. Says he’s lying down on the floor.”

People came and went. The president himself walked in calmly and occupied a chair. He lit a cigar, puffed on it, and stared with ruminative eyes at the shiny mechanism on the front of the safe.

“We are doing everything possible,” the woman said to him crisply.

“Of course,” he nodded. “I called up the insurance company. We’re amply covered.” A pause. “Mrs. Robinson, post one of the guards to keep people from running in and out of here. There are enough around already.”

No one had given Hugo any attention. He stood quietly in the background. The expert worked and all eyes were on him. Occasionally he muttered to himself. The hands of an electric clock moved along in audible jerks. Nearly an hour passed and the room had become hazy with tobacco smoke. The man working on the safe was moist with perspiration. His blue shirt was a darker blue around the armpits. He lit a cigarette, set it down, whirled the dials again, lit another cigarette while the first one burned a chair arm, and threw a crumpled, empty package on the floor.

At last he went to the phone again. He waited for some time before it was answered, and he was compelled to make the man inside repeat frequently. The new series of stratagems was without result. Before he went again to his labors, he addressed the group. “Air getting pretty bad, I guess.”

“Is it dark?” one of them asked tremulously.

“No.”

Fifteen minutes more. The expert glanced at the bank’s president, hesitated, struggled frenziedly for a while, and then sighed. “I’m afraid I can’t get him out, sir. The combination is jammed and the time-lock is all off.”

The president considered. “Do you know of anyone else who could do this?”

The man shook his head. “No. I’m supposed to be the best. I’ve been called out for this⁠—maybe six times. I never missed before. You see, we make this safe⁠—or we used to make it. And I’m a specialist. It looks serious.”

The president took his cigar from his mouth. “Well, go ahead anyway⁠—until it’s too late.”

Hugo stepped away from the wall. “I think I can get him out.”

They turned toward him. The president looked at him coldly. “And who are you?”

Mrs. Robinson answered. “He’s the new man Mr. Shayne recommended so highly.”

“Ah. And how do you propose to get him out, young man?”

Hugo stood pensively for a moment. “By methods known only to me. I am certain I can do it⁠—but I will undertake it only if you will all leave the room.”

“Ridiculous!” Mrs. Robinson said.

The president’s mouth worked. He looked more sharply at Hugo. Then he rose. “Come on, everybody.” He spoke quietly to Hugo. “You have a nerve. How much time do you want?”

“Five minutes.”

“Only five minutes,” the president murmured as he walked from the chamber.

Hugo did not move until they had all gone. Then he locked the door behind them. He walked to the safe and rapped on it tentatively with his knuckles. He removed his coat and vest. He planted his feet against the steel sill under the door. He caught hold of the two handles, fidgeted with his elbows, drew a deep breath, and pulled. There was a resonant, metallic sound. Something gave. The edge of the seven-foot door moved outward and a miasma steamed through the aperture. Hugo changed his stance and took the door itself in his hands. His back bent. He pulled again. With a reverberating clang and a falling of broken steel it swung out. Hugo dragged the man who lay on the floor to a window that gave on a grated pit. He broke the glass with his fist. The clerk’s chest heaved violently; he panted, opened his eyes, and closed them tremblingly.

Hugo put on his coat and vest and unlocked the door. The people outside all moved toward him.

“It’s all right,” Hugo said. “He’s out.”

Mrs. Robinson glanced at the clerk and walked to the safe. “He’s ruined it!” she said in a shrill voice.

The president was behind her. He looked at the handles of the vault, which had been bent like hairpins, and he stooped to examine the shattered bolts. Then his eyes travelled to Hugo. There was a profoundly startled expression in them.

The clerk was sobbing. Presently he stopped. “Who got me out?”

They indicated Hugo and he crossed the floor on tottering feet. “Thanks, mister,” he said piteously. “Oh, my God, what a wonderful thing to do! I⁠—I just passed out when I saw your fingers reaching around⁠—”

“Never mind,” Hugo interrupted. “It’s all right, buddy.”

The president touched his shoulder. “Come up to my office.” A doctor arrived. Several people left. Others stood around the demolished door.

The president was alone when Hugo entered and sat down. He was cold and he eyed Hugo coldly. “How did you do that?”

Hugo shrugged. “That’s my secret, Mr. Mills.”

“Pretty clever, I’d say.”

“Not when you know how.” Hugo was puzzled. His ancient reticence about himself was acting together with a natural modesty.

“Some new explosive?”

“Not exactly.”

“Electricity? Magnetism? Thought-waves?”

Hugo chuckled. “No. All wrong.”

“Could you do it on a modern safe?”

“I don’t know.”

President Mills rubbed his fingers on the mahogany desk. “I presume you were planning that for other purposes?”

“What!” Hugo said.

“Very well done. Very well acted. I will play up to you, Mr.⁠—”

“Danner.”

“Danner. I’ll play up to this assumption of innocence. You have saved a man’s life. You are, of course, blushingly modest. But you have shown your hand rather clearly. Hmmm.” He smiled sardonically. “I read a book about a safecracker who opened a safe to get a child