Raffles had produced a pretty embroidered case, intended
obviously for his razors, but filled instead with the tools of
his secret trade, including the rock-oil. From this case he
selected a "bit," capable of drilling a hole an inch in diameter,
and fitted it to a small but very strong steel "brace." Then he
took off his covert-coat and his blazer, spread them neatly on
the top step--knelt on them--turned up his shirt cuffs--and went
to work with brace-and-bit near the key-hole. But first he oiled
the bit to minimize the noise, and this he did invariably before
beginning a fresh hole, and often in the middle of one. It took
thirty-two separate borings to cut around that lock.

I noticed that through the first circular orifice Raffles thrust
a forefinger; then, as the circle became an ever-lengthening
oval, he got his hand through up to the thumb; and I heard him
swear softly to himself.

"I was afraid so!"

"What is it?"

"An iron gate on the other side!"

"How on earth are we to get through that?" I asked in dismay.

"Pick the lock. But there may be two. In that case they'll be
top and bottom, and we shall have two fresh holes to make, as the
door opens inwards. It won't open two inches as it is."