Mr. Fripp said, with an air of unconvincing virtue: "I'll do what I can, just to oblige, but you needn't talk as though I was in the 'abit of picking locks, sir."
"Don't be an ass," Michael said. "Mr. and Miss Fortescue know all about you."
"No one don't know all about me," Mr. Fripp announced firmly. "There's always people ready to swear a man's life away, and I've come across more than most in my time. You didn't ought to pay attention to everything you 'ear, miss."
Margaret assured him that she never paid attention to malicious reports. Mr. Fripp said that it did her credit.
They walked on in single file until they reached the locked door. Peter judged the distance to be about a quarter of a mile, and realised that the passage must run straight beneath the Priory grounds to the Inn.
Mr. Fripp bent down, and turned his torch on to the lock. Then he felt in his pockets for some slim-looking tools, which he laid on the ground. One of these he inserted gently into the lock.
"Can you do it without any damage?" Michael asked.
Mr. Fripp forgot his role of injured innocence. "Lor' yes, sir! If you'd seen some of the locks I've picked you wouldn't ask me whether I could open this one. It ain't worthy of me, this ain't." He worked in silence for a short while, and then, turning the instrument he held, he pushed the door. It opened without a sound, for it had no other fastening than the lock.
Michael flashed his torch into the room. They saw a press in the centre, and some smaller machines round it. The room was a fair size, and contained only the machines, a few wooden stools, and a safe.
"Electric light and all!" said Mr. Fripp admiringly, and switched it on. "Do themselves proud, don't they? There's no denying it don't pay to be honest, no matter what they say."