"Some one has been here before us?" questioned Zoya.
He nodded. "It looks so," he growled, "but we'll soon find out." Entering without hesitation and carrying his tools in their canvas wrapping, he threw the light of his pocket-torch down the steps and descended, while Zoya Rochal, her small nose sniffing the air daintily, followed, frowning.
"Don't you smell something?" she whispered when they reached the passage.
"I fancied--yes, I'm sure--the fumes of powder."
"Ah, I was not mistaken then. What can have happened?"
"I don't know. Perhaps we are mistaken."
Zoya, whose eyes seemed to be keener than his, suddenly darted forward ahead of him with a cry, and bending down beside the steel door picked up something and held it before Max Liederman's eyes.
"The Bough!" she cried. "The Golden Bough!"
Liederman started upright, his eyes big as saucers under his tangled brows.
"Khodkine!" he stammered. "Here!"