While Gin finished his study and went on searching for those reels, I found myself sitting there in silence, staring at that numbered wheel. It was larger than the locks we had at school, but other than that, it looked the same. There was a photo of the manager’s dame—Gin had brushed the dust off of it—and there was a date written down on its bottom margin, three numbers. Couldn’t hurt to try. I spun the wheel, set it to zero, and began. Right, left, right and click! The steel door pulled open. I was hoping for cash.
The Keeper’s Fare
Tale Told 