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NO names!" hoarsely¹ interrupted the other. "If you speak my name again I'll give the whole thing up."
 
"No you won't; you're too deep in it for that. But I'll drop the Fellows and just call you Sam. If that's too familiar, we'll drop the job. I'm not so keen on it."
 
"You will be. It's right in your line." Sam Fellows, as he was called, was whispering now—a hot, eager whisper, breathing of guilt² and desperation. "If I could do it alone—but I haven't the wit—the——"
 
"Experience," dryly put in the other. "Well, well!" he exclaimed impatiently,as Fellows crept nearer, but said nothing.
 
"I'm going to speak, but—Well, then, here's how it is!" he suddenly conceded, warned by the other's eye. "The building is a twenty-story one, chuck full and alive with business. The room I mean is on the twelfth floor; it is one of five, all communicating, and all in constant use except the one holding the safe. And that is visited constantly. Some one is always going in and out. Indeed, it is a rule of the firm that every one of the employees must go into that room once, at least, during the day, and remain there for five minutes alone. I do it; every one does it; it's a very mysterious proceeding³ which only a crank like my employer would devise."
 
"What do you do there?"
 
"Nothing. I'm speaking now for myself. The others—some of the others—one of the others may open the safe. That's what I believe, that's what I want to know about and how it's done. There are thousands in that safe, and the old man being away——"
 
"Yes, this is all very interesting. Go on. What you want is an artist with a jimmy."
 
"No, no. It's no such job as that. I want to know the person, the trusted person who has all those securities within touch. It's a mania⁴ with me. I should have been the man. I'm—I'm manager."
 
The hoarseness⁵ with which this word was uttered, the instinct of shame which made his eyes fall as it struggled from his lips, wakened a curious little gleam of hardy⁶ cynicism in the steady gaze of his listener.
 
"Oh, you're manager, are you!" came in slow retort, filling a silence that had more of pain than pleasure in it. "Well, manager, your story is very interesting, but by no means complete. Suppose you hurry on to the next instalment."
 
Cringing⁷ as from a blow, Fellows took up his tale, no longer creeping nearer his would-be confederate, but, if anything, edging away.