"Well, make haste!" cried Guy impatiently.
"It seems almost a shame to break the seals," said Ida, stooping to examine them. "The impression is so clear that I can read the words of the motto."
"Oh, bother the seals!" said her brother. "We can't see what's inside the box until they are broken."
A moment later Brian came bounding back with his chisel. Mr. Ormond took the tool, and soon chipped the wax away from the face of the locks.
"Now," he remarked, with a smile, "what should you say if we found I'd lost the keys?"
"Say!" cried Guy. "Oh, I should say, Burst it open somehow. Get the wood-axe, or the coal-hammer."
"I don't think there'll be any need for such extreme measures," answered his father. "Go to the top drawer on the left-hand side of that writing-table, and in it you'll find two keys on a steel ring."
The keys were produced, the padlocks unfastened and removed. The supreme moment had arrived, and the children crowded round holding their breath.
"Now then, children," said Mr. Ormond, preparing to raise the lid. "Are you all quite ready? Very well, then. One—two—three!"
There was a moment of astonished silence as the whole company bent over the opened chest. With a sort of gasp, Ida broke the spell. "Empty!" she cried.