Just inside those thick, hopeless walls they lay--millions of piled-up yellow treasure.

Storri stared hard at the impassive granite and licked his lips.

The nearness of those millions pleased him like music.
"Sixty feet!" exclaimed Storri unctuously.

"That doesn't sound far, but before a robber pierced such a wall as that he would fancy it far enough." "Oh, a robber wouldn't try the wall," said the old man, turning to look at it.

"I've often wondered though that no one ever thought of the sewer out there;" and the old man marked a line in the air with his pipe-stem as though tracing the direction of the great street drain that ran beneath the pavement.
Storri kept on his journey to the club, but the notion of those millions, almost within hand's touch of the open street, continued to haunt him pleasantly.