"Looks like the key of a jail," he said aloud.
He spoke with unconscious prescience. This was the key of the door of
the vault. Removing his overall, Kerry laid it with his cane upon the
scrap-heap, then he climbed down the ladder and found himself in the
mouth of that low timbered tunnel, like a trenchwork, which owed its
existence to the cunning craftsmanship of Sin Sin Wa. Stooping
uncomfortably, he made his way along the passage until the massive
door confronted him. He was in no doubt as to which key to employ; his
mental condition was such that he was indifferent to the dangers which
probably lay before him.
The well-oiled lock operated smoothly. Kerry pushed the door open and
stepped briskly into the vault.
His movements, from the moment that he had opened the trap, had been
swift and as nearly noiseless as the difficulties of the task had
permitted. Nevertheless, they had not been so silent as to escape the
attention of the preternaturally acute Sin Sin Wa. Kerry found the
place occupied only by the aged Sam Tuk. A bright fire burned in the
stove, and a ship's lantern stood upon the counter. Dense chemical
fumes rendered the air difficult to breathe; but the shelves, once
laden with the largest illicit collection of drugs in London, were
bare.
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