But it took a lot to daunt Susan, once she had definitely embarked on an enterprise. In one lightning summary of the situation she laid hold of the fact that nothing short of dynamite could force an entrance into that building, if so be the occupants earnestly desired to prevent ingress. Dynamite, or low cunning. Dynamite being clearly out of the question, stealth became the order of the day. All this she had grasped and docketed in the couple of dozen paces it took her to reach the place, and she never paused as she approached the small door. Under the light of the lone flare which guttered over the lintel, she studied the masonry on either side and located a bell. Her finger pressed it with a firm touch. A while she waited, and when no response came she pressed again. Straining her ears, she caught the tread of heavy feet coming towards her. There was something threatening about their slow progress which would have alarmed most people--it was as if the janitor knew that the one outside was no regular visitor, and was suspicious. Came the gentle slither of bolts in well-oiled grooves--she counted four of them--and then the protesting snap of a big lock. The door swung back a couple of inches, and part of a scowling face appeared in the gap. "Vat ees?" "An urgent message. Hurry up and let me in, you fool!" As the man perceived her slightness and the fact that she was alone, the door creaked open a further six inches. "Hom from?" "The Chief." "I know no Cheef," said the man, and began to close the door again, but Susan already had her foot in the jamb. "The Triangle, you infernal idiot," she hissed. "Vich Triangle?" She played her trump card. Something silvery glittered in her open palm as she thrust it towards the man's eyes--Joe Blaythwayt had begged it from Mr. Teal as a memento, and Susan had abstracted it from Uncle Joe's treasury without that formality, in preparation for just such a contingency. The charm worked. The door opened wide enough for her to pass. "Com." She entered, and heard the door close and the bolts snick back into place. The darkness closed down inkily, and then the shuffling of the janitor's feet stopped and a switch clicked. Over her head a frosted bulb broke into a dim radiance. Without embarrassment she crushed out the stump of her fag on the dusty floor and took another from a gaudy packet. She knew that she was being inspected closely, but, secure in the efficiency of her disguise, this fact troubled her not at all. At length the man seemed satisfied. "Vid hom do you vish to spik?" he queried deferentially. This was a development which she had not had time to reckon with, but her brain moved fast, and she covered up her slight hesitation by striking a match and lighting her cigarette before replying. "Is Prester John here?" she asked.