Free Red Planet by Robert A. Heinlein Page A

accepted Frank's help in the adventure.
    Burglary is not common on Mars and locks are unusual items. As for night watchmen, manpower is not transported through millions of miles of space simply to be used to watch the silent corridors of a boys’ school. The principal hazard that Jim and Frank faced in getting to the school's offices was the chance of running into some restless student going to the washroom after hours.
    They moved as silently as possibly and scouted each stretch of corridor before entering it. In a few minutes they were at the outer door of the offices without—they hoped—having been seen. Jim tried the door; it was locked. ‘Why do they bother to lock this?’ he whispered.
    'On account of guys like you and me,’ Frank told him. ‘Go back to the corner and keep your eye peeled.’ He attacked the latch with his knife.
    'Okay.’ Jim went to the passageway intersection and kept lookout. Five minutes later Frank hissed at him; he went back. ‘What's the matter?’
    'Nothing's the matter. Come on.’ Frank had the outer door open.
    They tiptoed through the outer office, past recording desks and high stacked spool files to an inner door marked: Marquis Howe—HEADMASTER— Private.
    The lettering on the door was new—and so was the lock. The lock was no mere gesture, capable of being picked or sprung with a knife; it was a combination type, of titanium steel, and would have looked more at home on a safe.
    'Think you can open it?’ Jim asked anxiously.
    Frank whistled softly. ‘Don't be silly. The party is over, Jim. Let's see if we can get back to bed without getting caught.’
    'Maybe we can get the door off its hinges.’
    'It swings the wrong way. I'd rather try to cut a hole through the partition.’ He moved aside, knelt down, and tried the point of his knife on the wall.
    Jim looked things over. There was an air-conditioning duct running from the corridor through the room they were in and to the wall of the headmaster's office. The hole for the duct was almost as wide as his shoulders; if he could unscrew the holding flanges and let the duct sag out of the way—
    No, he could not even get up to it; there was nothing to use as a ladder. The file cabinets were fastened to the floor, he found.
    There was a small grille set in the bottom of the door, to permit the exhaust air to escape from the inner office. It could not be removed, nor would the hole left be large enough to be of use, but he lay down and tried to peer through it. He could see nothing; the room beyond was dark.
    He cupped his hands over it and called out, ‘Willis! Oh, Willis! Willis boy —’
    Frank came over and said urgently, ‘Cut that out. Are you trying to get us caught?’
    'Sh!’ Jim put his ear to the grille.
    They both heard a muffled reply: ‘Jim boy! Jim!’
    Jim replied, ‘Willis! Come here, Willis!’ and listened. ‘He's in there,’ he said to Frank. ‘Shut up in something.’
    'Obviously,’ agreed Frank. ‘Now will you quiet down before somebody comes?’
    'We've got to get him out. How are you making out with the wall?’
    'No good. There's heavy wire mesh set in the plastic.’
    'Well, we've got to get him out. What do we do?’
    'We don't do a darn thing,’ asserted Frank. ‘We're stymied. We go back to bed.’
    'You can go back to bed if you want to. I'm going to stay here and get him out.’
    'The trouble with you, Jim, is that you don't know when you are licked. Come on!’
    'No. Sh!’ He added, ‘Hear anything?’
    Frank listened. ‘I hear something. What is it?’
    It was a scraping noise from inside the inner office. ‘It's Willis, trying to get out,’ Jim stated.
    'Well, he can't. Let's go.’
    'No.’ Jim continued to listen at the grille. Frank waited impatiently, his spirit of adventure by now more than satisfied. He was stretched between a reluctance to run out on Jim and an anxiety to get back to his room before they were caught. The scraping noise continued.
    After a while it