“How’d it carry off?” Barlow asked.
“Smart and tidy,” Pierce said. “I gave Willy two or three minutes; it should have been enough.”
“Willy’s a bit glocky.”
“All he has to do,” Pierce said, “is twirl two locks, and he’s not too glocky to bring that off.” He glanced at his watch. “Well, we’ll know soon enough.”
And he slipped away, in the fog, back toward the station.
__________
At eleven-thirty, Pierce had taken up a position where he could see the dispatch office stairs and the guard. The copper made his round; he waved to the jack, who waved back. The copper went on; the jack yawned, stood, and stretched.
Pierce took a breath and poised his finger on the stopwatch button.
The guard came down the stairs, yawning again, and moved off toward the W.C. He walked several paces, and then was out of sight, around a corner.
Pierce hit the button, and counted softly, “One… two… three…”
He saw Agar appear, running hard, barefooted to make no sound, and dashing up the stairs to the door.
“Four… five… six..”.
Agar reached the door, twisted the knob; the door opened and Agar was inside. The door closed.
“Seven… eight… nine…”
__________
“Ten,” Agar said, panting, looking around the office. Clean Willy, grinning in the shadows in the corner, took up the count.
“Eleven… twelve… thirteen…”
Agar crossed to the already opened cabinet. He removed the first of the wax blanks from his pocket, and then looked at the keys in the cabinet.
“Crikey!” he whispered.
“Fourteen… fifteen… sixteen…”
Dozens of keys hung in the cabinet, keys of all sorts, large and small, labeled and unlabeled, all hanging on hooks. He broke into a sweat in an instant.
“Crikey!”
“Seventeen… eighteen . . . nineteen..”
Agar was going to fall behind. He knew it with sickening suddenness: he was already behind on the count. He stared helplessly at the keys. He could not wax them all; which were the ones to do?
“Twenty… twenty-one… twenty-two…”
Clean Willy’s droning voice infuriated him; Agar wanted to run across the room and strangle the little bastard. He stared at the cabinet in a rising panic. He remembered what the other two keys looked like; perhaps these two keys were similar. He peered close at the cabinet, squinting, straining: the light in the office was bad.
“Twenty-three… twenty-four… twenty-five…”
“It’s no bloody use,” he whispered to himself. And then he realized something odd: each hook had only one key, except for a single hook, which had two. He quickly lifted them off. They looked like the others he had done.
“Twenty-six… twenty-seven… twenty-eight…”
He set out the first blank, and pressed one side of the first key into the blank, holding it neatly, plucking it out with his fingernail; the nail on the little finger was long, one of the hallmarks of a screwsman.
“Twenty-nine… thirty… thirty-one…”
He took the second blank, flipped the key over, and pressed it into the wax to get the other side. He held it firmly, then scooped it out.
“Thirty-two… thirty-three… thirty-four…”
Now Agar’s professionalism came into play. He was falling behind— at least five seconds off his count now, maybe more— but he knew that at all costs he must avoid confusing the keys. It was common enough for a screwsman under pressure to make two impressions of the same side of a single key; with two keys, the chance of confusion was doubled. Quickly but carefully, he hung up the first finished key.
“Thirty-five… thirty-six… thirty-seven, Lordy,” Clean Willy said. Clean Willy was looking out the glass windows, down to where the guard would be returning in less than thirty seconds.
“Thirty-eight… thirty-nine… forty…”
Swiftly, Agar pressed the second key into his third blank. He held it there just an instant, then lifted it out. There was a decent impression.
“Forty-one… forty-two… forty-three…”
Agar pocketed the blank, and plucked up his fourth wax plate. He pressed the other side of the key into the soft material.
“Forty-four… forty-five… forty-six… forty-seven…”
Abruptly, while Agar was peeling the key free of the wax, the blank cracked in two.
“Damn!”
“Forty-eight… forty-nine… fifty…”
He fished in his pocket for another blank. His fingers were steady, but there was sweat dripping from his forehead.