chairman, abreast with the high official, who had brought the necessary
authorization from the all-powerful quarter; then came Myerst carrying
the box: followed two other gentlemen, both legal lights, charged with
watching official and police interests; Rathbury and Spargo brought up
the rear. He whispered something of his notions to the detective;
Rathbury nodded a comprehensive understanding.

"Let's hope we're going to see--something!" he said.

In the secretary's room a man waited who touched his forelock
respectfully as the heads of the procession entered. Myerst set the box
on the table: the man made a musical jingle of keys: the other members
of the procession gathered round.

"As we naturally possess no key to this box," announced the chairman in
grave tones, "it becomes our duty to employ professional assistance in
opening it. Jobson!"

He waved a hand, and the man of the keys stepped forward with alacrity.
He examined the lock of the box with a knowing eye; it was easy to see
that he was anxious to fall upon it. While he considered matters,
Spargo looked at the box. It was pretty much what it had been described
to him as being; a small, square box of old cow-hide, very strongly
made, much worn and tarnished, fitted with a handle projecting from the
lid, and having the appearance of having been hidden away somewhere for
many a long day.

There was a click, a spring: Jobson stepped back.

"That's it, if you please, sir," he said.