When he reached the lower corridor and was hurrying
toward his suite in the corner of the building, there was a dull crash,
as of a muffled explosion, and two or three of the glass doors in the
street-fronting suite were shattered. Blount quickened his pace to a
run, let himself in by means of his latch-key, and, cautiously opening
his desk, groped in an inner drawer for the revolver which Gantry had
persuaded him to buy as a part of the office furnishings.
With the weapon in hand, he pushed through the unlatched door into
Collins's room. There was an acrid odor of dynamite fumes in the air,
and when he pressed on to the third room of the suite the gases were
stifling. His first act was to feel for the switch and cut in the
electric lights. The third room, which had doors of communication with
his own office and Collins's, was a wreck. Desks were broken open, and
the safe-door had been blown from its hinges.
Blount saw the figure of a small man with his cap pulled down over his
ears bending over the wrecked cash-box. At the upblazing of the ceiling
lights, the man sprang to his feet and fled, going out through the door
by which Blount had just entered, and snapping the light-switch as he
passed to leave the rooms in darkness.
Blount was cursing his own lack of presence of mind when he turned to
follow the escaping burglar.
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