bolts and hinges actually bulged and cracked. It was being
crushed, like the flimsy outside door, before the unwonted attack.

Upwards, by fractions of an inch, by millimeters, the door was
being forced. There was such straining and stress of materials
that I really began to wonder whether the building itself would
stand it.

"Scientific jimmying," gasped Garrick, as the door bulged more and
more and seemed almost to threaten to topple in at any moment.

I looked at the stubby little cylinder with its short stump of a
lever. Garrick had taken it out now and had wedged it horizontally
between the ice-box door and the outer stonework of the building
itself. Then he jammed some pieces of wood in to wedge it tighter
and again began to pump at the handle vigorously.

"What is it?" I asked, almost in awe at the titanic power of the
apparently insignificant little thing.

"My scientific sledgehammer," he panted, still working the lever
more vigorously than ever backward and forward. "In other words, a
hydraulic ram. There is no swinging of axes or wielding of crow-
bars necessary any more, Dillon, in breaking down a door like
this. Such things are obsolete. This little jimmy, if you want to
call it that, has a power of ten tons. I think that's about
enough."

It seemed as if the door were buckling and being literally
wrenched off its hinges by the irresistible ten-ton punch of the