DAVID TALLERMAN
43
“Well look again, can’t you? Perhaps if you lit that lamp we could both see better.” Sliding in a pick, I sought for the back pin. When I was sure I’d found it, I followed up with the tension wrench. The back pin and the fourth broke easily, and I started to feel confident. “What are you doing?” “I think it’s caught on something. Give me a moment…” The third was trickier. I kept misjudging, and losing it. At last it broke, with a definite click. I moved straight to the second, and an instant later, that went too. There were footsteps on the carpeted floor. He was coming towards me. The front pin was another difficult one, or my nerves were getting in the way. My fingers were greasy with sweat. “Get away from there…” My tension wrench turned as the cylinder popped. In one motion, I palmed my picks, swung the lid up, and reached in with my free hand. “Ah, there we are. There’s nothing in here, though, only clothes. I’m sure he said…” My fingers closed on rough leather. I snatched my hand back and let the lid drop. “No, nothing,” I said, slipping the bag inside my cloak and into the hidden pocket I had sewn there. “How about you?” “Stand up,” he said, “and get away from that.” “Fine. I told you, there’s nothing here but clothes.