Taking his pistol, he fired a number of shots on the bolt of the lock.
‘Don’t use them all. How many have you?’
‘Two more.’
‘Keep them.’
The lock seemed shattered, but still the door held. The men’s efforts were becoming frenzied when Mallet had an idea. Along the farther wall of the room stood a heavy, old-fashioned sofa.
‘Let’s use the couch as a battering-ram.’
The room was now thick with smoke, biting and gripping the men’s throats. Hampered by coughing and bad light, they could not work fast. But at last they got the couch across the room and planted end on to the door. Standing one at each side, they swung it back and then with all their strength drove it against the timber. A second time they drove, and a third, till at the fourth blow there was a sound of splitting wood, and the job was done.
Or so they thought. A moment later they found their mistake. The right bottom panel only was gone.
‘The left panel! Then the bar between!’
Though the men worked feverishly, their operations took time. The smoke was now increasing rapidly. And then suddenly La Touche heard a terrible, ominous sound. Crackling was beginning somewhere not far off.