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Updated: May 3, 2025
"As I drew back the slide I became aware of a sound which, soft as it was, rang the knell of my newly-formed hopes. I had closed the door of the murderers' room and locked it, but had not shot the bolt. Now I could distinctly hear someone fumbling gently at the keyhole, apparently with a picklock. It was most infuriating.
Suppose then, my lord, you were, by one of those sly opportunities, which you know so well how to command, to take off the key in wax, and get a picklock key made exactly upon the model of it. The end, my lord, take my word for it, would abundantly sanctify the apparent sordidness of the means.
A picklock lay on the floor betraying how she had gained entrance in the night, and that was the only trace of her. Whither had she gone? That no mortal tongue could tell him. The darkness had covered her flight; and when the day broke, no man could say where the light found her.
But tell me what passed between you if he was very indignant that I could not suffer men like you and my uncle Alban and Guy Darrell to believe him a picklock and a thief." Lionel began his narrative, but had not proceeded far in it before Darrell's voice was heard shouting loud, and the library bell rang violently. They hurried into the library, and Lionel's fears were verified.
I pulled at it with both hands; it refused to budge. So this was the lock I was, if necessary, to practise the arts of a thief to open. I was no picklock; I had flattered myself that nothing, and no one, could make me such a thing.
The Rat, then, or the Rat's mother, was still up, and he would need to exercise more than ordinary caution or else wait indefinitely, perhaps. He shook his head at that alternative, as he looked sharply up and down the street. He would gain little by waiting, and ah! He was crouched in the doorway now, the deft fingers working swiftly with the picklock.
By means of the impression, which they had thus obtained, Corkscrew and Felix proposed to get a false key made by Picklock, a smith who belonged to their gang of house-breakers; and with this false key knew they could open the door whenever they pleased.
But if he succeeded in that, then he moved silently a little further up the lane, crossed to the other side and halted again, this time before the back door of a shed. In an instant his picklock was at work; in another he had opened the door a bare fraction of an inch. His lips grew tighter, as he retraced his steps to the Mole's fence.
I got a picklock and several skeleton keys, I put in a tin box several doses of the aroph-that is, some honey mixed with pounded stag's horn to make it thick enough, and the next morning I went to the "Hotel de Bretagne," and immediately tried my picklock. I could have done without it, as the first skeleton key I tried opened the wornout lock. Proud of my idea, I went down to see Mdlle.
They were working, too, without light, or he would have got a warning gleam when he had looked through the window. And now what now? The picklock was shifted to his left hand, as he drew his automatic from his pocket. There was only one answer to the question to play the game out to the end, whatever that end might be!
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