“Can’t I save you the trouble, sir?” he asked. “Can’t I put those documents away under your directions?”
Maître Voigt laughed softly to himself; closed the portfolio in which the papers had been sent to him; handed it to Obenreizer.
“Suppose you try,” he said. “All my papers of importance are kept yonder.”
He pointed to a heavy oaken door, thickly studded with nails, at the lower end of the room. Approaching the door, with the portfolio, Obenreizer discovered, to his astonishment, that there were no means whatever of opening it from the outside. There was no handle, no bolt, no key, and (climax of passive obstruction!) no keyhole.
“There is a second door to this room?” said Obenreizer, appealing to the notary.
“No,” said Maître Voigt. “Guess again.”
“There is a window?”
“Nothing of the sort. The window has been bricked up. The only way in, is the way by that door. Do you give it up?” cried Maître Voigt, in high triumph. “Listen, my good fellow, and tell me if you hear nothing inside?”
Obenreizer listened for a moment, and started back from the door.
“I know!” he exclaimed. “I heard of this when I was apprenticed here at the watchmaker’s. Perrin Brothers have finished their famous clock-lock at last—and you have got it?”