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The safe is locked!
Had he been waiting for me to write that? Because the reply came almost instantly.
Mr Linton,
It is locked to keep things safe. That is why it is called a safe.
Rikkard Ambrose
Gah
! Was this man trying to drive me crazy? Well… probably. To hell with him!
Dear Mr Ambrose,
I know it what a safe is, thank you very much. And I know it is locked, because I have tried to open it and not succeeded, as mentioned before. WHERE IS THE KEY?
Yours Sincerely
Miss Lilly Linton
I pushed the message into the tube with maybe a bit more force than necessary and pulled the lever. His answer came as quick as ever.
Mr Linton,
Writing in capitals is not as quick or efficient as writing in normal letters. Please refrain from such time-wasting habits while in my employ. The key I have already pushed under the door, as any observant employee would have noticed.
Rikkard Ambrose
Muttering some not very polite things about Mr Ambrose, I went over to the door and fetched the key. Then I returned to the back of the room where, in a small niche I hadn’t noticed before today, a big, black metal door had been inserted into the wall, with the word 'Ambrose' written in simple steel letters at the top. I wondered for a moment why he would feel the need to write his name on his own safe. Did he have that bad a memory? Then I realized that it was probably the name of the manufacturer. So he made safes, did he? What else did he do?
Pushing the thought aside and the key into the lock, I turned it and opened the door. It went smoothly and without even squeaking. Sleek and impenetrable, just like its maker.
I had expected a metal container of maybe about three square feet to lie beyond. Instead I found myself facing the gloom of an enormous steel room, larger than my office, with scores of objects on the shelves that lined the walls.
There was everything from the mundane file box to strange rocks, painted wooden idols and large scrolls of parchment that looked as though they had already lived through several centuries. What the hell were these? If Mr Ambrose was an industrialist as the duchess had suggested, where had he gotten these from? They didn’t look like anything coming out of a factory.
On the contrary - they spoke of distance, danger, mystery.
Resisting my mighty urge to go and investigate, I turned towards the file boxes and examined their numbers, one by one. There was an S39XX299 and an S39XX301 - but no S39XX300. What was he playing at? Did he do that on purpose?
I marched back to my desk and composed a fitting message. I even managed not to put any swear words in.
Dear Mr Ambrose,
There is no box S39XX300.
Yours Sincerely
Miss Lilly Linton
The message container returned. Pulling it open, I read:
Mr Linton,
I told you to look in the safe.
Rikkard Ambrose
