The air was thick with an ill-smelling smoke, like that of a partially
snuffed candle. Then he saw a circle of light spring out from the
electric lantern of Denver and fall on the partially wrecked safe. And it
glinted on yellow. One of the sacks had been slit and the contents were
running out onto the floor like golden water.
Over it stooped the shadow of Denver, and Terry was instantly beside him.
They were limp little sacks, marvellously ponderous, and the chill of the
metal struck through the canvas to the hand. The searchlight flickered
here and there--it found the little drawer which was wrenched open and
Denver's stubby hand came out, choked with greenbacks.
"Now away!" snarled Denver. And his voice shook and quaked; it reminded
Terry of the whine of a dog half-starved and come upon meat--a savage,
subdued sound.
There was another sound from the street where old Lewison was coming to
his senses--a gasping, sound, and then a choked cry: "Help!"
His senses and his voice seemed to return to him with a rush. His shriek
split through the darkness of the room like a ray of light probing to
find the guilty: "Thieves! Help!"
The yell gave strength to Terry.
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