Mr. Hardack placed the muzzle of the ancient weapon against the big keyhole. He hesitated a moment, listening to the roar of the storm without, and the steady whirr of the machinery in the tower, as it revolved the false lenses.
Bang!
It sounded as though a cannon had been fired, so loudly did the report of the pistol echo in the narrow tower. There was a splitting and rending of wood, a snap as of broken springs and a clatter as pieces of the lock fell on the stone steps.
“Come on, boys!” cried the old man, as he threw all his weight against the door. The shattered lock gave, and they rushed through the smoke on up the steps.
“Go back! Go back!” cried two men standing on the top landing. Behind them glowed the big light. It almost blinded the boys. They hesitated a second or two.
“Scoundrels!” cried the keeper.
He raised the poker threateningly and leaped forward.
“Come on! All together!” yelled Ned. “We can handle ’em! Come on, Jerry and Bob!”
Forward they went, the boys and the aged keeper, straight at the two men. The fellows held big wrenches in their hands. Jerry saw one aim a blow at Mr. Hardack. It struck the old man on the side of the head, but, though he staggered, he did not fall. Then he raised his poker and brought it down on the arm of the man who had hit him. The wrecker gave a cry and the wrench fell from his nerveless fingers.