Sowerbutt's Surprise

“Got it,” whispered Missionary, who had spotted a line of bent spine tops on the shelves. A hand had frequently pushed across them. Missionary’s hand snaked in and there was a click; the two men pulling the shelves out. Peering round into the darkness, they could make out a door. “Locked,” said Spaghetti as he edged in and tried the handle. “Shine your torch over here.” He always carried his bunch of picks on nocturnal excursions.
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