“Dowels, you call them,” John said. “If we select a shortish board and dig out said dowels, we might get through to something interesting.”
John had a pen knife, too, a little larger than mine, but no bowie knife. We selected a suitable board after a little search. Fifteen minutes loosened the board. The wood had shrunk a little in the years since it had been laid, and we dug the dowels out almost easily. Then, by sticking our little fingers into the holes and pulling upward gently and together, we raised the board from the floor. I looked into the hole before we had it up more than a few inches. There was only darkness below. John blew out our candle, and we took the board away, and peered down. There was a room much like ours below; though it was dark, we could see its outlines. It was quite empty. Looking farther we saw that the door was closed, and it smelled damp and musty, but not poisonously so. It was also bare of any sort of furniture, which indicated that it was never used.
“I’ll jump down,” John said, “and have a go at those bars. I may be able to get them out. Better make a lump under the bedclothes, so if that man comes back he’ll think I’m asleep; and drop the board back in place after I’m through. If I have to get up again you can tie the sheets together for a rope.” Then he dropped through the hole, and I wrapped my overcoat around most of the blankets, which made a passable body except for the head. I finally decided on an old brown angora sweater from the painting stuff where it had been used as packing, with John’s cap tipped at an angle over it, as though to keep the light out of his eyes. Then I carried the candle to the other side of the room, and decided that it was a good enough mummy to deceive a casual eye in that light. There was one rug in the room. Instead of replacing the board I decided to throw it over the hole, and pulled the table over that. Then I turned to Helena’s side of the room.
In order to get her out we must break down the wall that separated us. I couldn’t quite see leaving her without trying to do something about it. I pulled a package of four canvasses strapped together over to the wall, and behind it I dug a small hole in the cement with my gold knife. I knew that Helena heard me because I presently heard her moving some things about in her room, and then she began digging, too. I wanted to warn her about hiding the dust from the hole, but decided that a woman would think of that.
I had not dug more than a few minutes before my knife snapped off at the handle. The jeweller who made it had not reinforced it for cement digging. I had no other sharp instrument, so I had to stop. I could hear Helena still at it on the other side, though. Then John called to me, and I pulled the carpet away from the hole in the floor.
“In my painting stuff,” he said, “you will find a large wooden box marked ‘etching’ on the cover. In that is some paraffin and a bottle of acid in a wooden barrel with a screw top. You might dig out a couple of small brushes, too, from the other stuff, and give them to me.”
“What’s all that for?” I asked.
“Oh, I’m going to try etching through the bars,” he explained, “it’s so damp here that they are pretty well rusted through anyway. I can do it easily if there’s enough of the acid.”
“You’d better work quietly down there,” I said, “they’ll be bringing our dinner any moment now.”
I felt quite sure as I went to look for the things that I should not find the acid, as undoubtedly the Black Ghost would consider it a very dangerous weapon. I was mistaken, however, or else they did not know what it was. Probably they considered all painting materials harmless. There was about five ounces of the stuff—enough to rout a small army if anyone had the indecency to throw it in a man’s eyes. I made sure the top of the container was safely screwed on again before I handed it down to John. I knelt and lifted the edge of the rug and was reaching downward as far as possible to meet John’s hand, when a key was turned in the door. John’s fingers had just closed over the wooden barrel of acid. I dropped the other things perforce, trusting to the creaking of the opening door to mask the sound of their fall. I was trying to look as though I were tying my shoe as the man entered with our dinner. I continued to tie it serenely after the door opened, merely glancing up and saying “guten Abend” in what I hoped would pass for a casual tone of voice.