"I shall go myself. Take this man and—do your worst with him. Don't finish him till I come back. I want to see him die!"
"One moment," said Wimsey, unmoved by this amiable wish. "I think you had better take me with you."
"Why—why?"
"Because, you see, I'm the only person who can open the door."
"But you have given me the word. Was that a lie?"
"No—the word's all right. But, you see, it's one of these new-style electric doors. In fact, it's really the very latest thing in doors. I'm rather proud of it. It opens to the words 'Open Sesame' all right—but to my voice only."
"Your voice? I will choke your voice with my own hands. What do you mean—your voice only?"
"Just what I say. Don't clutch my throat like that, or you may alter my voice so that the door won't recognise it. That's better. It's apt to be rather pernickety about voices. It got stuck up for a week once, when I had a cold and could only implore it in a hoarse whisper. Even in the ordinary way, I sometimes have to try several times before I hit on the exact right intonation."
She turned and appealed to a short, thick-set man standing beside her.
"Is this true? Is it possible?"