. That region around the drain's mouth is wholly deserted. By
working without lights there isn't a chance of being detected."

"Thirty millions!" repeated London Bill, grinning cynically, "and all in
five-thousand-dollar sacks! Did it ever occur to you that it will take
some time to carry the gold down to the drain's mouth? It's close by
three-quarters of a mile, that trip is."

"My friend," retorted Storri, with just a tinge of patronage, "leave
that to me. I'll find a way to send the gold to the drain's mouth
without breeding any backaches. All you are to do is dig the tunnel, and
dig it so we can reach the gold."

"That's simple," observed London Bill. "I shall dig so as to undermine
an end of one of those steel slabs that make the vault's floor, running
my tunnel for the rear end of the vault. The weight of the gold will
force down the slab when undermined. I'll open that vault like lifting
the cover of a chest, only the cover will drop from the bottom instead
of lifting from the top. The minute that slab of steel drops six inches,
the sacks of gold will begin sliding into our tunnel of their own
accord. You needn't worry about my part of the job; I can take thirty
millions out of the vault if you can get them to the mouth of the
drain."

"I can get them to the mouth of the drain," responded Storri
confidently, "and another thirty with them. The real limit to our
operations is the yacht itself. The one I have in mind will only carry
one hundred tons, and thirty millions in gold makes sixty tons, to say
nothing of ship's stores and coal."

"What place will you head the boat for when the job's done?"

"That," said Storri, "I shall leave to be settled in the open Atlantic.
The question now is: Are you going with me? I've told you that your
share is to be a million."

"One thirtieth?" said London Bill, with the ring of complaint in his
voice.

"One thirtieth," returned Storri with emphasis. "Where else can you get
one million for ten weeks' digging and a six-months' cruise in a yacht?
Besides, there will be a dozen others to share; to say nothing of the
yacht, and what it costs to coal her and buy her stores. Come now; do
you go with me?"

London Bill put out a small, hairy hand, and gave Storri a squeeze of
acquiescence that was almost a mate for the grip bestowed upon our
nobleman by Richard that snow-freighted day in November.

"I'm with you, live or die," said London Bill; "an' I never weaken, an'
never