The moment I had done, two knocks came in answer, and when I had responded in the same way, there was one single one given which I also answered.
“That only stands for some one being there,” said Mr Frewen, with a sigh; “we have no code arranged by which we could communicate.”
“Oh yes, we have,” I said, with a laugh, and, after breaking my thumb-nail, I managed to open out a gimlet fitted in the back of my knife, in company with a button-hook, a lancet, another to bleed horses, a tooth-pick, pair of tweezers, and a corkscrew, all of which had been very satisfactory to look at when I received the knife as a present; but I often had come to the conclusion that the knife would have been better with two more blades instead. But now its time had come, and with a feeling of being able to triumph over a difficulty, I stepped to the bulk-head, feeling rather giddy and strange in the head, but this passed off in the excitement, as I rapidly stuck in the point of the gimlet and began to bore.
The bulk-head was composed of three-quarter inch board, but I kept on boring and boring without apparently getting through, and I drew out the gimlet at last, after boring in as far as I could, and stood looking at the position in dismay.
Just then came a fresh tapping, to which I responded, and then as I listened to the hollow sound I knew what had been wrong. I had been boring through the board just where it was backed by one of the uprights which gave strength to the bulk-head.
The next minute I had bored a hole right through, and on withdrawing the gimlet I could see daylight.
“Who’s that?” I whispered, with my lips to the tiny hole, and placing my ear to the orifice I heard for answer—
“Me, Mr Preddle. Who are you?”
“Dale and Mr Frewen,” I answered.
“What does he say?” asked Mr Frewen.