Disciplining the Deadbolt

I slipped back inside through the threshold slot to secure the perimeter, only to find the door's brass deadbolt resting at a pathetic forty-five-degree tilt. Some careless amateur had left the thumb-turn halfway engaged, foolishly trusting sloppy friction to guard a primary fortification. What an embarrassing excuse for a lockdown! Scaling the molding trim, I planted my boots against the painted wood and seized the heavy brass wing with both hands. With a calculated surge of torque, I forced the latch a full quarter-turn clockwise. The heavy steel cylinder shot forward into the strike plate with a resounding, industrial thud. 'Now stand at attention, you lazy latch,' I commanded. The bulkhead is officially sealed.