they were, he and his companion might escape.

But there was no lock to attack, no key-hole. That which he sought was
of the mortice pattern, buried in the heavy lining, and wherever he
passed his hands, the surface was perfectly smooth.

"Curse the old Jezebel!" he muttered. "Here, Roach, old man, rouse up.
We're done, but we can't stay here--we must get out somehow. Did you
see her? I wish I'd tied her up a little tighter."

"No, no, no," groaned Roach. "I did not see her. She must have got
free somehow. I only felt her hands as she jumped upon me from behind
and drove me forward on to you. Is--is the powder going off?"

"No! Get up. There isn't a spark now. Phew! it's enough to stifle a
fellow. Where's that wine?"

"I put it somewhere in this corner. Yes, here."

"Give us hold. Be sharp."

There was a clicking noise in the utter darkness and after feeling about
for a few moments, the younger man grasped the bottle, drank heavily,
and passed it to his trembling companion, who snatched at it and drank
deeply in turn.

"That's better," cried Arthur, sharply. "Now then, the matches."

"No, no, don't strike a light. Are you mad?"

"Pretty nigh, but we must risk it or we can never get out."

"We never shall get out alive," groaned Roach.

"Well, I mean to," said his companion; "so here goes. I can't use the
hammer and chisels and wedges in this blessed darkness."

There was the crackle of a match, and the elder man uttered a cry of
horror as he shrank into his corner again, but as the wax taper burned
up steadily in Arthur's fingers, and no explosion followed, he obeyed
his companion's order and picked up the lamp, which proved not to be
utterly drained of oil, and after a little patient effort began to burn
again as it was replaced in the broken lantern.

"Now, then, sharp's the word," said Arthur. "Hold the light while I
chisel out the wood till I can get at the lock. Mustn't use the hammer,
or it will put her on her guard. Wonder whether she's outside
listening."

There was not a sound to be heard, and with Roach tremblingly holding
the light, Arthur worked away with the sharpest-edged wedge, but made
little progress, for a few cuts were sufficient to prove that the door
was of the hardest oak, and when the man had been carving away for
nearly an hour, with the perspiration streaming down his face, it was to
throw down the chisel in despair, for the wood proved to be only the
casin