The light thus found cheered their spirits not a little. They could see that they were in a large chamber, with apparently no other mode of exit than the way by which they had entered.
“There must be some way to get out,” said Wamby. “You fellows sound the floor and walls, and see if you cannot discover a door somewhere.”
But their search proved vain. Not a sign of a door was to be found, though they examined carefully every square inch of the floor and of the walls, as high up as they could reach.
“There’s nothing for us to do, then,” said Wamby, “but wait and see what will happen.”
And wait they did, for some time, and then what happened was the most unlooked-for thing that could possibly occur. The trap-door above opened an instant; there was a sound of mocking laughter, the door closed again, and a moment after Smithkin himself came sliding and rolling down the hill of glass, and landed in a heap in the centre of the room.
Such a crushed and crestfallen Smithkin as he was! They gathered about him and asked what was the matter.
“Matter!” growled the discomfited soldier, rising and stamping his foot in a rage, “mutiny is the matter! Rebellion is the matter! My soldiers have defied me. The King shall know of it, and every one of them shall be sent to the Gnomes!”
“Here, leave him to me,” said Wamby, taking Smithkin by the arm and drawing him aside.
After a long talk with him, Wamby returned to the others, and said, “He has had some trouble with his men, and they dumped him down here out of revenge. But it will turn out to our advantage, for he knows where the door is that leads out of this hole. Give me your pin, Harry. Smithkin’s is in possession of the soldiers above.”
Harry drew a pin from the lapel of his coat and handed it to him. “Now show me the place,” said Wamby. Smithkin led him to the foot of the hill of glass, and pointed to a little pin-hole in the incline, about a foot from the bottom.