As he, spoke, the candles on the table shook in a sudden draft and went out.
"That's about the last straw!" said Porky, falling over a chair.
"Gimme your hand!" said Beany. "I know where the passage is and it is short, because I counted the number of steps they took before I heard the outside door open and smelled the outside air. I know it opens into the castle garden because I heard them talking about going out that way. Oh, I have a long story to tell you, Porky, but it will have to wait until we are well out of this. I don't feel any too happy yet."
He clasped his brother's hand in his with a sudden close pressure. Porky returned it, and laid an affectionate arm around his brother's shoulder as together they went cautiously toward the passage leading to the garden.
They found it easily; Beany had used his eyes to good advantage. Feeling carefully as they went, they reached the end where a massive, rough door barred their way.
Porky drew a box of safety matches from his pocket, and by their feeble light they examined the heavy barrier. There was no sign of a latch or keyhole, but the door was securely fastened on the other side.
They were trapped!
"Well, what do you know about that!" muttered Beany, scowling. He felt slowly along the crack of the closely set door and pressed the barred surface, but it did not give under his touch.
Porky flipped a match out of his fingers as it burned him, and the boys stood motionless in the darkness, wondering what to do next. Beany leaned on the hilt of the long sword; Porky traced figure eights on the wall beside him with the tip or the scorched finger that had held the match.
Beany leaned over and tapped his shoulder.