“But, suppose the old man’s awake?” whispered the shivering ex-servant, faint from his wound.
“Well, if he is, we must persuade him to go to sleep, somehow, till we’ve done. Here, you come and hold the light while I hand him the keys.”
The trembling man took the lantern, while his leader went down on one knee; and as his little companion handed him false keys and picklocks, he busied himself trying to open the door.
“Keep that light still, will you?” he cried menacingly. “Why, you’re making it dance all over the door. I want it on the key-hole, don’t I?”
Then the light shone full on the lock for a minute or two, not more, for he who held it kept turning his head to see if Capel was moving.
This brought forth a torrent of whispered oaths from both men.
“Here, let me have a try,” whispered the little man. “I can open it if you’ll hold this blessed glim still. I never see such a cur.”
Then, in the coolest manner possible, he took the other’s place, and tried key after key, picklock after picklock, and ended by throwing all into the bag with a growl of disgust.
“It’s one of them stoopid patents,” he cried. “Here, give us a james.”
A strong steel crowbar in two pieces was screwed together, and its sharp edge inserted between the door and the post, but the great, solid mahogany door stood firm, only emitting now and then a loud crack, sharp as that given by a cart whip, as the men strained at it in turn.