The storeroom was small and dark, cold and smelling of stale beer. Stacked against two walls were wooden cases—no doubt containing bottles of liquor—and metal kegs. There were two doors, opposite each other. One led to the barroom; the other, latched and barred, had to lead to the alley. The concealed door swung shut behind him, and he heard a lock click. He turned to see how well concealed it actually was, feeling reassured that not the slightest clue of its existence was visible.