“We may strike a hornets’ nest,” I explained to Hibbard, whose feet seemed very heavy even for a man of his size. “But I’m going in and so are you. Only, let me suggest that we first take off our shoes. We can hide them in these bushes.”
“I always catch cold when I walk barefooted,” mumbled my brave companion; but receiving no reply he drew off his shoes and dropped them beside mine in the cluster of stark bushes which figure so prominently in the illustrations that I have just mentioned. Then he took out his revolver, and cocking it, stood waiting, while I gave a cautious push to the door.
Darkness! silence!
Rather had I confronted a light and heard some noise, even if it had been the ominous click to which eve are so well accustomed. Hibbard seemed to share my feelings, though from an entirely different cause.
“Pistols and lanterns are no good here,” he grumbled. “What we want at this blessed minute is a priest with a sprinkling of holy water; and I for one—”
He was actually sliding off.
With a smothered oath I drew him back.
“See here!” I cried, “you’re not a babe in arms. Come on or— Well, what now?”
He had clenched my arm and was pointing to the door which was slowly swaying to behind us.
“Notice that,” he whispered. “No key in the lock! Men use keys but—”