“Here, let’s try a saw. Centre-bit!”
A centre-bit was fitted into a stock, and a hole cut right through. Into this, after much greasing, a key-hole saw was thrust, and, not without emitting a loud noise, the work of cutting began, the sawdust falling lightly on the lion’s skin; but at the end of a few seconds a dull, harsh sound told that the saw was meeting metal, and a fresh start had to be made.
For fully two hours did the men work to get through, boring and sawing in place after place, but always to find that the door was strengthened in all directions with metal plates; and at last the task was given up. “Look here,” growled the leader of the party, “that bed isn’t used. I want to know how that chap got in. He hasn’t any key.”
“Can’t you get the door open, then?” said the third man, after the other had shaken his head.
“Why, don’t you see we can’t?”
“But we shall get nothing for our trouble.”
“Nothing at all,” said the tall man, quietly.
“But—”
“There, that’ll do. First of all, you were so precious anxious to go. Now you know we can’t get down, you’re all for the job. I say, is this the room where the murder was?”
“Yes; don’t talk about it.”