But here there was a difficulty. The key or
keys by which these doors were to be opened
were not forthcoming, nor had Gilbert any idea
where they could be found. He knew that a
great many of the keys belonging to the late
Miss Carrington had been taken away by the
deceased lady's legal adviser, and these might
be—probably were—among them. All the keys
in the possession of each person present, all that
could be collected in the house, were tried, but
in vain. It was too late to send for a locksmith,
and at last, after sundry ineffectual attempts had
been made with pieces of wire and bent nails to
pick the locks, it was decided that the only thing
to be done was to force them.

The excitement of those who looked on was
now very great. Each felt, and Gilbert
Penmore especially, as may easily be believed, how
much depended upon what might now be
disclosed. There was legitimate reason to hope that
something of importance might be revealed. A
new field for research had certainly been
discovered. The difference between the depth of
these arches, and that of the drawers and pigeon-
holes above them, had escaped those who had
previously examined the apartment, and it was
only to the minute and scrupulous exactness of
the old clerk that their present discovery was
to be attributed.

To him now in virtue of his mechanical turn,
the office of breaking open the doors, as they
may be called, was delegated. With the aid of
a screw-driver and a hammer, this was soon
accomplished, and the contents of the first of these
compartments, beginning with that on the
extreme left, were speedily disclosed to view.

Disappointment for everybody. Papers—the
whole receptacle was quite full of papers. The
deceased lady had had a turn for business, and
the hasty glance which Gilbert allowed himself,
showed him that these papers bore reference to
pecuniary matters—shares in the possession of
the deceased, and other things of a like nature.
They were swiftly thrust back again, to be
examined at some more convenient season, and the
central compartment was next forced open.

Disappointment again. Papers again. In
this case not so many, and chiefly letters. These
also on business matters. Nothing in the shape
of a bottle was there, or it would have been
detected at once.

There remained now but one more compartment
to search, but one more door to break open.
On the contents of this receptacle all their hopes
depended for fulfilment. Every other place had
been searched, and that ineffectually. Men cling
to hope so, and dread so much to risk losing the
grounds upon which it is based, that the old
man discontinued his work for a moment, and
paused before examining that last hiding-place,
the contents of which were to realise or frustrate
all their hopes.

The pause was but a short one, however, and
Jonathan Goodrich soon had his tools in hand
again, and the door of the last compartment was
quickly opened.

For one moment it seemed as if disappointment
was again in store for the seekers. At
first more papers only were disclosed to view,
and the heart of poor Gilbert had already sunk
at the sight, when suddenly, as the old clerk
drew them forth from their place of concealment,
something rolled out after them into the desk—
something which at one glance all present
perceived to be a bottle.

Gilbert seized it mechanically, and hardly
knowing what he did. But it was no time for
ceremony, and Julius Lethwaite, who had caught
sight of one word upon the label, had it out of
his hand in one moment, and was holding it up
to the light.

"Cornelius Vampi, herbalist and seedsman,"
he cried, in violent excitement. "Good Heaven,
we are on the eve of some great discovery."

"Why—what do you mean?" asked Gilbert,
almost breathless.

"I know him; have known him for some
time," cried Lethwaite. "This bottle has come
from his shop. He will know all about it."

Meanwhile, Gilbert in turn had got possession
of the bottle, and was examining it with eager
scrutiny. It was inscribed "Laudanum," and
"Poison," in large characters; then came the
name of the vendor as Lethwaite had read it.
A small—very small quantity—of dark liquid
remained at the bottom of the bottle, only a few
drops, such as would be left behind after it had
been virtually emptied.

Penmore smelt at these, and handed the bottle
to his friend.

"It is what we were in search of," he said.
He spoke inquiringly, as if afraid as yet to trust
the evidence of his senses.

Lethwaite and Goodrich, in turn, smelt the
mouth of the bottle. There was no doubt.
The faint peculiar smell of opium was there;
that smell which seems to warn the very instinct
of a man, and to suggest danger to him, even if
he is ignorant of the quality of the drug which
emits it. Both Lethwaite and the old clerk gave
their opinion without hesitation that the bottle
had contained laudanum.

Such a flood of hope and joy came pouring
into Gilbert's heart as he heard these words,
that he remained for a time absolutely speechless.
At last he spoke:

"This Vampi, can he be communicated with
at once?"

"He shall be communicated with at once,"
replied Lethwaite. "I will go to him without
a moment's delay."

"Shall I go with you?"

This question, after being discussed a little,
was decided in the negative. It was thought
better that Lethwaite should see the philosopher
alone, or accompanied only by Jonathan Goodrich,
with whom Vampi was already acquainted.
He would talk more readily under such
circumstances than in the presence of a stranger.
Lethwaite promised, however, to bring the man
back with him to Beaumont-street in the course
of that same long and eventful night. With
that he and his old friend and follower took
their immediate departure. The crisis was too