The patio is the little court around which Mexican houses are almost invariably built.
“Give me your electric light,” he at length said to Donald. “I am sure there must be an opening somewhere.”
Donald did as requested and Billie on all fours went carefully round the room, looking for a possible door.
“Here’s the place,” he finally exclaimed, “but the door has been walled up.” Then a moment later: “Hello, what’s this? A trap door.”
Quickly he brushed away the sand with which the floor had been covered, as is the Mexican custom, and the outlines of a door were plainly visible; but there seemed no way of raising it. Several times he passed his hand over the door, if perchance he could find a knob or a secret bolt, but in vain!
“I’ll have to pry it open with my hunting knife,” he finally exclaimed and began digging away with all his might.
“Are you sure it’s a door?” asked Donald, crawling over to where Billie was at work.
“Sure! Can’t you see?”
“It surely is,” said Donald. “Here, let me hold the light, while you get a good purchase with the knife.”
Billie handed over the electric light and gave the