The "door" was fitted with a light brass handle, similar to a handle used on a bureau drawer. Runnells stooped, still clutching a bundle of bank notes in one hand, and gave the handle a careless pull. The block did not move. He gave the handle a vicious tug then, but still with the same result. He dropped the bundle of bank notes, and used both hands. The block did not yield.
"I can't move the damned thing," he snarled. "It seems to be locked."
Captain Francis Newcombe's voice was suddenly cold and hard.
"Try again!" he said. "Here, I'll help you! Take your coat off and run the sleeve, the two of them if you can, through the handle so we can both get hold."
Runnells obeyed.
Both men pulled.
The handle broke away from its fastenings. The block did not move.
"It's locked, I tell you," panted Runnells. "Haven't you got the key?"
"Yes," said Captain Francis Newcombe quietly; "but there's no hidden keyhole here. It's locked from the outside—a spring lock. I remember now hearing it click. The old man would set it so that he could get out, of course, every time he entered. We didn't."
"Gawd!" said Runnells thickly. "What're we going to do?"