Nobody responded; after each visitation of the panel the silence that prevailed was sinister.
"There's no one in," faltered Mr.Warmdollar.
Inspector Val pointed ominously to the hall-rack on which were hanging Storri's hat and waterproof coat.

Mr.Warmdollar wrung his hands; his imagination, fretted into fever by the remoteness of his latest whisky toddy,--whisky toddy being Mr.Warmdollar's favorite tipple,--began to give him pictures of what dread things lay hidden in the silence beyond that unresponsive door.
Inspector Val took from his pocket three pieces of steel, each about the size of a lead pencil, and began screwing them together, end for end.
The instrument produced was a foot in length and looked like a screwdriver.

As a matter of burglarious fact it was a jimmy of fineness and finish.

It had been the property of a gentlemanly "flat-worker," who made rich hauls before he fell into the fingers of Inspector Val and went to Sing Sing.

Inspector Val applied the absent gentleman's jimmy to the San Reve's door, squarely over the lock.