"Shall we put her in the plate-closet? I have the key."

Arthur laughed.

"Why, that would smother her in half an hour. No; help me to lay her
down on the hearth-rug. We can come and look at her now and then. But
she won't move. We've pretty well frightened her to death."

Judging from appearances, this was the case, and after laying the
unfortunate woman on the hearth-rug, they took portmanteaus and coats
and hurried out into the main passage, then into that which went off at
right angles, to stop in front of the lobby door.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

AND GROWS DANGEROUS.

The key the men possessed admitted them at once and the other
portmanteau was opened, ready for use--a use which soon became plain.

"Think it'll be all right this time?" said Roach, who was in an intense
state of excitement.

"Dunno till I try," was the reply. "Light up and look sharp."

Roach turned to the second portmanteau, which stood inside the door, and
took out a dark lantern. Then striking a match, he lit it, and in
obedience to a word from his young companion, he held up the cover of
the iron door key-hole with one hand, and directed the full glare of the
bull's-eye on the opening with the other.

Arthur had not been idle. Hastily doubling his overcoat, he made of it
a pad to kneel upon, and then taking a bright new key from out of a
piece of tissue paper, he began to try if it would fit.

"All right," he whispered, "it goes splendidly."

"Well done," panted Roach. "But be quick."

"Quick be blowed! Don't you be so jolly nervous; there's no one to
interrupt us now."

"Well, turn the key."

"Won't turn--sticks. Oil."

Roach handed a little oil tin from the portmanteau, the key was
withdrawn and lubricated and once more thrust in, to evidently act upon
a part of the mechanism of the great lock, but that was all.

"Bah!" ejaculated Arthur. "I know the beggar. It's one of that sort
you see at the safe shops. When you turn the key you shoot bolts, top,
bottom and both sides. It nearly does. He made it quite to the wax
pattern, and it only wants a touch or two. Here, give us the file."

"Stop a minute."

"What's the matter?"

"I want to see if old Mrs Barron's safe."

"Look alive then. No, no; give me the file first."

The tool was handed and the active young fellow held the key close to
the light and began filing away where it seemed to him the wards of the
key wanted opening; and he was still bus