Some were
sleeping-rooms, some the meeting-rooms, while the one we had first
entered appeared to be the guard-room.
"Hello! What's this?" exclaimed Corson, tapping an iron door, such as
closes a warehouse against fire.
"It's locked, sure enough," said Owens, after trial.
"It must be the place we are looking for," I said. "Search those men
for keys."
The search was without result.
"It's a sledge we must get," said Owens, starting to look about for
one.
"Hould on," said Corson, "I was near forgetting. I've got a master-key
that fits most of these locks. It's handy for closing up a warehouse
when some clerk with his wits a-wandering forgits his job. So like
enough it's good at unlocking."
It needed a little coaxing, but the bolt at last slid back and the
heavy doors swung open. The room was furnished with a large table, a
big desk, and a dozen chairs, which sprang out of the darkness as I
struck a match and lit the gas. It was evidently the council-room of
the enemy.
"This is illigant," said the policeman, looking around with approval;
"but your man isn't here, I'd say."
"Well, it looks as though there might be something here of interest," I
replied, seizing eagerly upon the papers that lay scattered about upon
the desk. "Look in the other rooms while I run through these."
A rude diagram on the topmost paper caught my eye. It represented a
road branching thrice. On the third branch was a cross, and then at
intervals four crosses, as if to mark some features of the landscape.
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