Before Bayard had finished his explanation Pierre was trying to force an entrance into the room. He produced a key from his pocket and unlocked the door, but it refused to open for him, for it was securely fastened on the inside by a heavy hickory poker, one end of which had been placed under the lock, and the other firmly braced against the floor.
“Open here!” shouted Pierre, “or it will be worse for you when I get inside.”
No answer was returned, and Pierre, filled with rage, began trying to burst the door open by placing his brawny shoulders against it and pushing with all his strength, and then kicking it with his heavy boots; but his efforts were useless, and he finally desisted and turned his eyes toward the ladder that led toward the loft.
“Don’t try to go in that way,” said Bayard. “They are plucky fellows, and they would throw something at you the moment you showed your face above the partition. Cut the door down.”
Pierre thought this good advice. He hurried out of the hall and presently returned with an axe, with which he attacked the door furiously. The hinges held, and so did the lock; but the inside of the door gave way, and in a few seconds Pierre had cut a hole large enough to admit him into the room. He cautiously thrust his head into it, but could see no one. He reconnoitred the interior thoroughly, and finally, with an exclamation of amazement, worked his way hastily through the opening. There was the broken furniture which the boys had scattered about the room, the open cupboard with the empty shelves, and the bread and meat they had left behind them; but the boys themselves were nowhere to be seen.
CHAPTER XII.
HOW WILSON ESCAPED.
Bayard and his cousins squeezed themselves through the hole in the door, one after the other, all of them revolving in their minds some tantalizing remarks they intended to address to Chase and Wilson when they saw them; and the surprise and bewilderment they exhibited when they found the room empty, were quite equal to Pierre’s. The latter, after looking all about the apartment to make sure that the boys were not there, lighted a candle, threw open the trap-door, and dived into the cellar, where he spent some time in overturning the boxes and barrels that were stowed around the walls; and when he came out again the expression his face wore was a sufficient indication that his search had been fruitless.
“Now, see here,” said he, looking savagely at Bayard; “what sort of a story is this you have been telling me?”