the fellow. "I don't ask much.
If you can't hold a lantern, let one of the gentlemen."

"Something's rusty," said the sergeant.

"No, it ain't that," said the man, taking the remark literally. "Look's
'ily enough, but it's such a rum un--sort of a double trouble back-fall.
I don't know what people are about, inventing such stupid locks.
`Patent,' they calls 'em, and what for? Only to give a man more
trouble. All locks can be opened, if you give your mind to it, whether
you've got a key or no. It's only a case of patience. That's got him!"
he said exultantly, and a thrill ran through Guest. "No, it ain't; that
blessed tumbler's gone down again. But, as I was a-saying," he
continued, as he resumed his operations, "a man who knows his business
can open a lock sooner or later, so why ain't they all made simple and
ha' done with it?"

"If talking would pick a lock," said the sergeant jocularly, "that one
would have flown open by now."

"And if chucking the light of a bull's-eye everywheres but how a man
wants it would ha' done it, we should ha' been inside ten minutes ago.
Like to have a try yourself, pardner?"

"No, no; go on," said the sergeant sternly; and the man sighed and
selected a fresh pick, one so slight and small that it seemed to be too
fragile for the purpose, as it flashed in the light while being
inserted.

Then ensued a few minutes of clicking and scratching before there came a
faint click, and a sigh of satisfaction from the workman.

"There you are!" he said, as he drew the door toward him, the paint
cracking where it had stuck, and a faint creak coming from one hinge,
while there floated out toward them a puff of dense, thick air,
suggestive of an ancient sarcophagus and the dust of ages and decay.

Then there was a sharp, scampering noise, and, as Stratton stood peering
forward into the dark room, where a faint halo of light spread like a
nimbus about the head of a portrait on the further wall, the workman
said, half nervously, half as if to keep up his courage:

"Rats!"

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

A SEARCH FOR THE HORROR.

The sound ceased on the instant as its cause passed through some hole in
the panelling, and Stratton uttered a low gasping sigh, and caught hold
of Guest's arm with a grip which felt as if it was the grasp of a
skeleton.

"Are you faint?" whispered the young barrister. "Let me take you back
to your room."

"If the gentleman feels queer, sir, he'd better not go