He had evidently raised a lid.

If there were a devil inside, now was its time, for--he sniffed--thus did the sewing-machines of the bazar smell.

He would clean that shaitan.

He slipped off his jacket, and plunged it into the box's mouth.

Something long and round bent under the pressure, there was a whirr and the voice stopped--as voices must if you ram a thrice-doubled coat on to the wax cylinder and into the works of an expensive phonograph.