Monte Irvin turned, a pathetic figure, to the Inspector who stood beside him. “We may as well proceed, Inspector Whiteleaf,” he said. “Mr. Gray’s evidence throws no light on the matter at all.” “Very well, sir,” was the reply; “we have the warrant, and have given the usual notice to whoever may be hiding inside. Burton!” The Sergeant stepped forward, placed the leather bag on the floor, and stooping, opened it, revealing a number of burglarious-looking instruments. “Shall I try to cut through the panel?” he asked. “No, no!” cried Monte Irvin. “Waste no time. You have a crowbar there. Force the door from its hinges. Hurry, man!” “It doesn’t work on hinges!” Gray interrupted excitedly. “It slides to the right by means of some arrangement concealed under the mat.” “Pass that lantern,” directed Burton, glancing over his shoulder to Gunn. Setting it beside him, the Sergeant knelt and examined the threshold of the door. “A metal plate,” he said. “The weight moves a lever, I suppose, which opens the door if it isn’t locked. The lock will be on the left of the door as it opens to the right. Let’s see what we can do.” He stood up, crowbar in hand, and inserted the chisel blade of the implement between the edge of the door and the doorcase. “Hold steady!” said the Inspector, standing at his elbow. The dull metallic sound of hammer blows on steel echoed queerly around the well of the staircase. Brisley and Gunn, standing very close together on the bottom step of the stair to the third floor, watched the police furtively. Irvin and Gray found a common fascination in the door itself, and Seton, cheroot in mouth, looked from group to group with quiet interest. “Right!” cried the Sergeant. The blows ceased. Firmly grasping the bar, Burton brought all his weight to bear upon it. There was a dull, cracking sound and a sort of rasping. The door moved slightly. “There’s where it locks!” said the Inspector, directing the light of a lantern upon the crevice created. “Three inches lower. But it may be bolted as well.” “We’ll soon get at the bolts,” replied Burton, the lust of destruction now strong upon him. Wrenching the crowbar from its place he attacked the lower panel of the door, and amid a loud splintering and crashing created a hole big enough to allow of the passage of a hand and arm. The Inspector reached in, groped about, and then uttered an exclamation of triumph. “I’ve unfastened the bolt,” he said. “If there isn’t another at the top you ought to be able to force the door now, Burton.” The jimmy was thrust back into position, and: “Stand clear!” cried Burton. Again he threw his weight upon the bar—and again. “Drive it further in!” said Monte Irvin; and snatching up the heavy hammer, he rained blows upon the steel butt. “Now try.” Burton exerted himself to the utmost. “Take hold up here, someone!” he panted. “Two of us can pull.” Gray leapt forward, and the pair of them bent to the task.