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There was an English man-of-war displaying an admiral's flag, which they were saluting. On shore I learnt that she was carrying a Commission sent out to make some diplomatic representations to the Negus of Abyssinia. And who should I meet but Captain Picklock, one of my old friends whose acquaintance I made at Calcutta, where he was in one of the native regiments.
It appears to be a kind of picklock, an open sesame, Tanner—Tawno! the one is but a modification of the other; they were originally identical, and have still much the same signification.
The bundle of securities was thrust into his pocket, the sheet of note paper followed, and, as a knock sounded on the door, he stooped, picked up the bottle from the floor, and darted into the adjoining room and in another instant he had reached the locked door and was working at it silently and swiftly with a picklock.
That it was a sound-proof room was not, perhaps, altogether an unmixed blessing! Was the place deserted? Was there any one within? He could hear nothing. Well, after all, did it make any ultimate difference? The room itself would condemn them! The picklock was at work again working silently working swiftly. And now, in its place, his automatic was in his hand.
On going away, I remembered to have closed it; on trying it now, I found it open. I waited outside, never losing sight of the house till daylight. Then I ventured indoors listened, and heard nothing looked into the kitchen, scullery, parlor, and found nothing went up at last into the bedroom. It was empty. A picklock lay on the floor, which told me how she had gained entrance in the night.
"We must open it," said the lawyer, "perhaps she is trying to convey her most valuable property across the frontiers." "Open it? Contrary to the dead woman's express desire?" asked Van der Werff. "Certainly!" cried the notary. "We were sent here to ascertain the amount of the inheritance. The lid is fastened. Take the picklock, Meister. There, it is open."
Jimmie Dale was crouching at the door, a little steel picklock in his fingers. It was fairly evident now that the underworld in general had but an extremely superficial acquaintance with Hunchback Joe; that Hunchback Joe's minor depredations against the law were but a cloak to the mental soliloquy ended abruptly.
"We must open it," said the lawyer, "perhaps she is trying to convey her most valuable property across the frontiers." "Open it? Contrary to the dead woman's express desire?" asked Van der Werff. "Certainly!" cried the notary. "We were sent here to ascertain the amount of the inheritance. The lid is fastened. Take the picklock, Meister. There, it is open."
Cutts, pleased by the survey of the forlorn interior, ventured, in the stillness that reigned around, to mount the ladder, to apply a picklock to the door above, and, opening this with ease, crept into the long gallery, its walls covered with pictures. Through the crevices in another door at the extreme end gleamed a faint light.
Raising one hand, he pointed to the door with a proud and tragic gesture, and he said angrily and gasping for breath: 'Leave this room ... go out ... robber of souls.... Go out from here, you violator of consciences.... Go out from here, you picklock of dying men's doors!
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