“With doing nothing but hold a candle!” said Arthur, with a chuckle, as he drove in another wedge as far as it would go and released two more thinner ones. “Now I’m going to have a moment’s rest and a drink while you go and see how dear old Mrs Barron is. Whistle if you want help.”
The butler went off, and the young man drank and examined the progress he had made, and he was still examining so as to find where he could drive in the next wedge with the most effect when the butler came back.
“She hasn’t stirred,” he said.
“She can’t,” said his companion, with a laugh, and he began tapping again vigorously, but at the end of half a dozen strokes, as his hammer was poised to deliver another, there was a dull clang, and the young fellow leaped back.
“Hear that?” he said in a whisper full of triumph.
“Yes, it was like the banging to of another iron door.”
“Banging to of an iron grandmother!” cried Arthur, contemptuously; “it’s the whole front splitting away, and another wedge in will fetch it right off.”
“I hope so,” said Roach, piteously. “Do you think it will take much longer?”
“I don’t care if it takes two days,” said the other, coolly. “Don’t matter so long as we get the door open.”
Roach sighed.