It was not long before I lost the key. I made one or two half-hearted
efforts to get into it with a button-hook; but, finding that the lock
lived up to its reputation, I resigned myself to regarding it for the
future as an article for ornament, not for use. In this capacity it
has followed me about from house to house. As an ornament it is
without beauty, and many people have urged me to throw it away. My
answer has been that it contained my secret papers. Some day I would
get a locksmith to open it, and we should see what we should see.
The war being over, I came into the library and sat down at my desk.
Perhaps it was not too late, even now, to set the Thames on fire. I
would write an incendiary article on--what? The cabinet caught my eye.
I went idly up to it and pulled at the drawers, before I remembered
that it was locked. And suddenly I was annoyed with it for being
locked; the more I pulled at it, the more I was annoyed; and I ended
up by telling it with some heat that, if it persisted in its defiant
attitude, I would shoot it down with my revolver.
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