“I don’t seem to find the key, sir. It’s supposed to be here. . . .”
“When did you have it last?”
“I couldn’t say, sir. To my knowledge no one’s been in the attic for years.”
Vance stepped back and crouched.
“Stand aside, Pyne.”
When the butler had moved out of the way Vance hurled himself against the door with terrific force. There was a creaking and straining of wood; but the lock held.
Markham rushed forward and caught him round the shoulders.
“Are you mad!” he exclaimed. “You’re breaking the law.”
“The law!” There was scathing irony in Vance’s retort. “We’re dealing with a monster who sneers at all law. You may coddle him if you care to, but I’m going to search that attic if it means spending the rest of my life in jail.—Sergeant, open that door!”
Again I experienced a thrill of liking for Heath. Without a moment’s hesitation he poised himself on his toes and sent his shoulders crashing against the door’s panel just above the knob. There was a splintering of wood as the lock’s bolt tore through the moulding. The door swung inward.