Highway Pirates; or, The Secret Place at Coverthorne

by Harold Avery

A moment's examination proved his statement to be correct. The gusts of air driven along the tunnel transformed the wide, old-fashioned keyhole into a sort of musical instrument; something in the formation of the lock must, I think, have lent itself to producing an unusually strange effect as the wind hummed and whistled through the hole. Here, at all events, was an explanation to the mystery; but in my case the sudden relaxing of overstrung nerves made me little inclined to join in my companion's laugh. I leaned up against the side of the passage, gasping for breath, while the throbbing of my heart seemed to hammer through my whole frame.

By the time I had somewhat recovered from the reaction caused by our discovery, George had carefully examined the door. It was fast and firm as a rock, though on one side, where the ponderous framework seemed to have shrunk or sunk, there were chinks into which I could have inserted the end of my finger; through these, too, the stronger gusts of air sighed and hummed as though in accompaniment to the whoop and wail of the keyhole.

"It's the lock that holds it," said George, returning to my hands the lamp which he had borrowed to aid him in his investigations. "If we could find one of these beams or uprights loose, and use it as a battering-ram, we might soon burst it open."

What the object of a door in such a place could be we had no notion, nor, I believe, did we trouble to think. What concerned us was that it stood between us and our hopes of liberty; and having no tool with which to pick the lock, we must employ our remaining strength in an attempt to make it yield to force.

To this end we retraced our steps some distance along the passage; but the heavy blocks of timber were too firmly fixed to admit of our wrenching them from their places. In vain did we search for a lump of rock sufficiently large and heavy to answer the same purpose; the only loose piece we could find was about the size of a man's boot, and we might have continued to fling this at the door for a whole week without achieving any further result than dinting the oak.

"Master Eden," said George, turning to me as though a sudden thought had come into his mind, "I've got a key here I fancy will fit that lock," and he made a sign indicating the pistol in his hand. "I've heard of its being done," he continued, "and I don't see why it shouldn't act in this case. I'll extract the ball, put the end of the muzzle to the keyhole, and blow the lock clean off the inside of the door. The powder's dry, and I don't doubt but what it'll explode."

"You'll hurt your hand," I said.

"I'll chance that," he replied. "I'll use my left. Now, sir, you hold the lamp, and stand clear when I fire."

With the corkscrew belonging to his knife Woodley was able to draw the wad from the short-barrelled pistol, and so remove the ball; then standing at arm's-length from the door, he took the weapon in his left hand and signalled to me to go farther back. The next instant there was a blinding flash, and a report which, in that confined space, sounded like the discharge of a small cannon. Woodley staggered back, and his arm dropped to his side. It was not for some moments that I was able to ascertain whether or not he was seriously injured; then it turned out that the recoil of the firearm, discharged with its muzzle so close to the door, had dislocated his wrist.

We pressed forward through the cloud of pungent smoke, and to our delight found that the door was no longer able to resist our united efforts to shove it open; indeed, when we had time to examine it more closely, we found that the lock had been blown away on the inside. We crossed the threshold eagerly enough, but the next moment whatever hopes had risen in our minds of finding ourselves on the point of stepping out into the blessed fresh air and light of day were dashed to the ground. We had certainly arrived at the end of our journey, but only to find that the long tunnel had apparently no outlet, and terminated in a small underground cell, of which the walls and roof even were of stone. As the dim light of our lamp revealed this unwelcome truth, I felt that at last our fate was finally sealed, that I could make no further effort, and that here I must lie down and die. Listlessly I stood by George's side and looked round. The little chamber in which we stood was the same height as the tunnel, and, I should say, as regards length and breadth not more than five feet square. It contained nothing but a three-legged wooden stool, and an ancient box or coffer, apparently of iron, secured with a heavy padlock. The walls, as I have said, were of roughly-hewn stone, and the roof was formed of two slabs of granite. Dimly I wondered to what purpose such a place could ever have been put—whether some hermit had dwelt there in a bygone age, and why such a long tunnel had been excavated for no further purpose than to end in a tiny vault which seemingly, to all intents and purposes, might have been constructed immediately above the cave. These thoughts drifted languidly through my fevered brain; the reaction after a brief period of excitement was beginning to tell, and I was fast coming to the end of my powers of endurance.