He tried the door, smiled a little as he reached for his keys, worked over the lock--and straightened up suddenly as his ear caught a descending step on the stairs.

It was two flights up, however--and the door was unlocked now.

Jimmie Dale opened it, and, like a shadow, slipped inside; and, as he locked the door behind him, smiled once more--the door lock was but a paltry makeshift at best, but INSIDE his fingers had touched a massive steel bolt that, when shot home, would yield when the door itself yielded--and not before.

Without moving the bolt, he turned--and his flashlight for a moment swept the room.
"Not much like the way they describe this sort of place in storybooks!" murmured Jimmie Dale capriciously.

"But I get the idea.