You get a move on before I counts five, or The Mope an' Ike ties you up! One--" Stangeist staggered to his feet, wiped the blood out of his eyes for the second time, and, with lips working, went unsteadily across the room to the safe.
He knelt before it, and began to manipulate the dial; while the others crowded around behind him.

The Mope was fingering his revolver again club fashion.

Australian Ike's elbow just grazed the portieres, and Jimmie Dale flattened himself against the window, holding his breath--a smile on his lips that was mirthless, deadly, cold.

The end was not far off now; and then--WHAT?
Stangeist had the outer door of the safe open now--and now the inner door swung back.

He reached in his hand to the pigeonhole, drew out the envelope--and with a sudden, wild cry, reeled to his feet.
"My God!" he screamed out.