Next he went to the large japanned box in the corner, touched the concealed spring, and laid open the secret chamber, from which he took a number of papers, including the sheet of figures against which were placed initials. He pored over these papers, studying them with the intentness of one who is committing a subject to memory. He made two or three alterations in the figures, and then put all the documents back in their hiding-place. He tried to close up the chamber, but the spring would not work properly. He tried again and again, but he did not succeed. With each failure his manner showed a rapidly rising agitation, an increasing apprehension, his usual impassivity dropping away from him completely. He examined the mechanism of the arrangement, but he could find nothing wrong with it; so far as he could see, it appeared to be in perfect order. As he struggled with it, his pale face became extraordinarily livid, his lips twitched convulsively, the perspiration stood in beads on his forehead. For he knew that if the box would not shut, then his scheme would tumble to pieces. He had almost given it up in despair when the accidental pressure of his knee against one of the sides of the box caused the spring to act, and the opening suddenly closed up of itself. Trembling and gasping, Silwood sat down and looked at the box as if it were some hateful living thing. "It ought to be seen to," he said to himself, "but I cannot permit any one to touch it. No one but myself must know of the secret chamber--that is vital. And yet--no, I must run the risk." He went on looking darkly at the box. "Oh, what a fright you gave me!" he said aloud to it, and then glanced about fearfully at the sound of his own voice. "How absurd!" he said to himself, reassuringly. "I must not let the thing get on my nerves like this." It was now not far from eight o'clock, which was the hour for Silwood's dinner. In a few minutes more, therefore, he betook himself to the restaurant in Holborn which he was in the habit of patronizing. A little after nine he walked back to Lincoln's Inn, which he entered by the small door at the side of the fine gateway opening into Lincoln's Inn Fields. He spoke to the porter for some seconds, and then went on to his private chambers in Stone Buildings, his rooms being on the top floor of the north-east corner building overlooking Chancery Lane. He had lived here for several years. After he had let himself in he locked the door, filled a black clay pipe and lit it, took an armchair and sat down. And there he sat for a long while very still and quiet, save for the puff--puff--puffing of the smoke from his lips. The pipe burnt itself out, and he looked at his watch. "It is too soon," he said to himself; and he filled a second black clay pipe. And this too he smoked out.