19. The Discovery

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Mr Linton,

You Might indeed enquire. It is because I expect my employees be capable of independent thought. The 'S' stands for safe. If that is too difficult for you to comprehend, then maybe you should look for another post. One more fitted to your limited intellectual capabilities.

Rikkard Ambrose

The arrogant.... "limited intellectual capabilities"? Gah! I didn't even know what names to call him! The newspaper articles about women's insufficient brain size and all the other arguments against our working and voting came to mind. Oh how I would have loved to skin that man alive. And then maybe roast him slowly over an open fire...

Dear Mr Ambrose,

I will go looking for the safe directly. Do not fear – even my limited mental capacity should be sufficient to find a big metal box.

Yours always (Which means you're not getting rid of me!)

Miss Lilly Linton

I stood up. I went looking. I found the safe. It took me only five minutes and then I was back at my desk – still without file S39XX300, for a very simple reason. Fuming, I grabbed a message slip from the bowl and scrawled four simple words on it.

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 succeed, 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 maybe 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 which 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.

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