It was in excellent condition,
beautifully clean, the tank half full of spirits. A little dry
sand on the tires showed that it had been used fairly recently.
"Old man Bellward's motor-bike that he goes to the station on,"
Desmond noted mentally. "But what's in the big cupboard, I
wonder? Tools, I expect!"
Then he caught sight of a deep drawer in the table. It was
half-open and he saw that it contained various tools and spare
parts, neatly arranged, each one in its appointed place.
He went over to the cupboard and tried it. It was locked. Desmond
had little respect for Mr. Bellward's property so he went over to
the tool drawer and selected a stout chisel with which to burst
the lock of the cupboard. But the cupboard was of oak, very
solidly built, and he tried in vain to get a purchase for his
implement. He leant his left hand against the edge of the
cupboard whilst with his right he jabbed valiantly with the
chisel.
Then an extraordinary thing happened. The whole cupboard
noiselessly swung outwards while Desmond, falling forward, caught
his forehead a resounding bang against the edge of the recess in
which it moved. He picked himself up in a very savage frame of
mind--a severe blow on the head is not the ideal cure for
hypochondria--but the flow of objurgatives froze on his lips.
Pages:
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172