"I know the Spartans, that's my old club, have been using the track evenings for training to help it settle. Plus there's the workmen putting finishing touches. Plus people using other bits of the Plezz could easily stroll in here. Shouldn't you concentrate on who's got access to the spare keys? Can't be too many of them."
Oh dear, thought Joe. Like a good princess, she wasn't going to be shy about telling the help what they ought to be working at.
He said, "Got your key handy?"
She passed it over. Joe moved along the wall of metal lockers. They came in blocks of eight. Zak's was second from the left. He counted two in the next block and inserted the key. The door opened. He did the same with the next block.,p>This way the manufacturers only need eight variations on locks and keys instead of an infinity," he explained.
"But it's lousy security!" she protested angrily.
"Saves rate payers money," said Joe with civic sternness. "As for security, your crook's got to work it out first."
"You worked it out," she said not un admiringly
That's my job," he said modestly, not thinking it worthwhile to reveal that the lockers at Robco Engineering where he'd worked nearly twenty years had suffered from the same deficiency which he'd worked out after ten.