Watters moved slowly. His concentration on the safe had been so intense he had not heard the men enter the room. Both wore dark clothes, and while one watched from the right, the other pressed a short-barrelled revolver to his head.
"A cracksman," the man on Watters"s right spoke quietly. "I don"t know him."
The first man pushed the muzzle of his revolver harder into Watters"s head. "What"s your name, friend?" He spoke in educated accents, so he may have been one of the gentlemen thieves who robbed for the thrill of things rather than for financial gain.
"John Temple," Watters gave the first name that came into his head. He pulled away from the muzzle of the pistol.
"Well John Temple, this crib is not yours to crack." The first man eased back the hammer of his revolver. "Keep quiet, or
