It was a peculiar gathering to assemble in anybody's bathroom: two pretty women, five biggish children, assorted; five smallish ones, boys, wearing war feathers; one elderly lady dressed in the fashion of the Gay Nineties; one elderly gentleman with a distinguished beard and clothes not much more recent. Also two dogs and one small kitten. Though the room was large, it wasn't really large enough. The Indians obligingly removed their shoes and stood in the bathtub. "Now," said Julian. They waited breathlessly. Julian carefully wiped his fingers with a handkerchief. (He had seen someone do this on TV.) Then he lightly touched the T-shaped hand on the dial. He looked as though he had been doing this sort of thing all his life. "Now it's on zero, see?" He said. "That's where it has to be first. So. Here we go. Six turns to the right. One ... two ... three ... four ... five ... six. There, I heard the tumblers fall. Now two turns to the left. One ... two...." Slowly, meticulously, he followed exactly the instructions on the slip of paper. At the last, after the "three whole turns R to eight," he paused dramatically. "Want me to go on?" "Oh, hurry up! Hurry up!" Julian grinned, put out his hand, and opened the small heavy door. Inside the safe there was still another little door with a key in its lock. Above, and on either side, the shelves and pigeonholes were empty. "Turn the key! Turn the key!" So Julian turned the key and opened the door to the interior cupboard of the safe. Everyone pressed forward in a bunch. And then there was a sort of collective groan in the room because that little cupboard, like Mother Hubbard's famous one, was bare; bare even of dust. "Well, I didn't think there'd be anything in it. I never did," said Portia, disappointed to be right. "But what about that little drawer _under_ the door?" Lucy asked. "I can't get it open. It's locked and the key's gone." "Try the one in the cupboard door...." But the key didn't fit. "Perhaps I can force it," Mr. Payton said, coming forward. "Since returning to Gone-Away, I have become fairly expert at breaking locks. Had to. Couldn't get into the Big House any other way." He turned to Mrs. Blake. "With your permission?" "But of course, of course!" With the head of his heavy walking stick Mr. Payton dealt the lock a number of sharp blows. "I think perhaps now ... but I need something to pull it open with. There is no handle." Foster, with great presence of mind, stepped out of the bathtub and handed Mr. Payton Baron Bloodshed's buttonhook, which had been spending the summer in his pocket with other curious items. "Maybe this'll do." "Ah, excellent, Foster, thank you. Yes, yes indeed.... Look!" Mr. Payton pulled open the little drawer, which was lined with blue plush and filled with small labeled packets. Hands reached out; Foster's grubby ones among them. "No, wait a bit, wait a bit," Mr. Payton commanded. "I think the privilege should go to Mrs. Blake."