refused to be masked under his assumption of reluctance. "Come on,
Griggs."

Hawkins turned the lever on his fancy lock, remarking again:

"Come on."

"Well, open the door."

"It's op--why, what's wrong here?" muttered the inventor, twisting the
lever back and forth several times.

"Oh, good heavens, Hawkins!" I groaned. "Has your lock gone back on
you, too?"

"No, it has not. Of course not," growled the inventor, tugging at his
lever with almost frantic energy. "It's stuck--a little new--that's
all. Er--do you see a screw-driver on that table, Griggs?"

I handed him the tool as quickly as possible, noting at the same time
that despite the cessation of the stirring "Hawkinsite" was getting
greener every second.

"I'll just take it off," panted Hawkins, digging at one of the screws.
"No time to tinker with it now."

"Why not? There's no danger."

"Certainly there isn't. But you--you seem to be a little nervous about
it, Griggs, and----"