"D——n you, Sutgrove!" shouted the detective. "Don't stop to think, or we shall lose our man after all. Come, both together."
I saw his intention, and I could understand and forgive his curse in the excitement of the moment. Together we hurled ourselves against the door. It did not move an inch, and a long low chuckle greeted the attempt from the other side. We tried madly again and again, but the barrier was immovable.
Then I looked round for some tool which would enable me to break down the door itself. There were only the chairs available, and so I tore off the leg of one of them, and, bidding Forrest stand back, I swung the piece of wood round my head, and struck as hard as I could against one of the lower panels of the door. The improvised club flew into half a dozen fragments, but the panel had cracked. Forrest had provided himself meanwhile with a similar club, and directed his blows so effectively that the panel was driven out. I threw myself at the gap, trusting to be able to force my way through.
What I saw filled me with rage. The wheels of the new car were moving, and right before my eyes the car disappeared into the outer coach-house. I made an unavailing attempt to struggle through the aperture, but the attempt was hopeless. It was too narrow to admit even my shoulders. Withdrawing, I told Forrest what I had seen.
"I had entirely forgotten Laver," he remarked, and putting his whistle to his mouth, he blew it shrill and clear.
Then together we renewed our attack upon the door. The sound of a shout from the outside followed by a pistol shot made us work like madmen, and within a minute, another panel gave, and we managed to get at the bolts and draw them. The articles piled against the door toppled in all directions, as we finally forced our way out.
We were too late. The outer door was wide open, and just on the threshold, was Forrest's unfortunate subordinate lying on the ground, with blood trickling down his arm. He struggled into a sitting position as we came out, and pointed up the road in the direction of St. Albans.
"Gone away, sir," he said.
"Hurt?" asked Forrest, pausing as he did so.
"Not much; smashed shoulder, I fancy," remarked the sufferer philosophically.