“What does this mean?” asked Luella in a matter-of-fact tone.
“It is a poor practical joke, I fear,” said I lightly. I took occasion to shift a revolver to my overcoat pocket.
“Well, aren't you going to get me out of here?” she asked with a little suggestion of impatience.
“That is my present intention,” I replied, beating a tattoo on the door.
“You'll hurt your fists,” she said. “You must find some way besides beating it down.”
“I'm trying to bring our friends here,” said I. “They should have been with us before now.”
“Isn't there another way out?” asked Luella.
“I suspect there are a good many ways out,” I replied, “but, unfortunately, I don't know them.” And I gave a few resounding kicks on the door.
“Where does this stairway go, I wonder?” said Luella.
“Into the celestial regions, I suppose,” I ventured.