Over the doorway swung a dingy,
time-worn and weather-beaten sign, upon which he could barely decipher
the words: "HENRY BLACK, Locksmith," and over which were
suspended a pair of massive crossed keys which at one time had been
bright golden, but which now were old and rusty looking. In the low
window in front there was a rare and curious collection of articles that
would have delighted the eyes of an antiquarian. Locks there were, that
were relics of a by-gone age, and seemed as if they might have done
service on dungeon doors in some ancient keep in feudal times--strange
and grotesque locks that had evidently pleased the fancy of some old
connoisseur, whose treasures were guarded by these strange looking
protectors, which had now outgrown their usefulness, and were exhibited
as curiosities in the practical age of to-day. Locks of latest finish
and design, and locks red and rusty and worn out, were mingled together
with a confusion and carelessness that bespoke a thriving business,
which left no time for order or arrangement.
Entering the shop without hesitation and with a careless air of
assurance, Everman found himself in the presence of the locksmith, who
was busily employed at his work.
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