There was a sharp creak, the bolt gave way a little, and the rest was only a work of time, for by wriggling it up and down the rust was ground out, and at last it yielded and was drawn back.
“Let me have a try at the other,” cried Fred; and Scarlett squeezed by him and took the candles, to stand, hot and panting, watching intently while his companion attacked the lower bolt.
This was even more compactly fixed than the other; but the thumb-piece was projecting, and Fred began on this with his foot, kicking it upward with his toe, and stamping it down again, till it gradually loosened, and, after a little more working, shot back with ease.
Fred drew away from the door then, and looked at his companion.
“Shall we open it now?” he said, with his old hesitation returning.
Scarlett did not answer for a few moments.
“Think it is a tomb?” he said.
“You said it was not,” replied Fred.
“It would be very horrible if it is; I shouldn’t like to look in.”
The door opened from them, and, as they stood there, they could see that it had given a little, so that the edge was nearly half an inch from the stonework, and a faint, damp odour reached their nostrils.