"You see that hole in the ceiling? I was enlarging it."
"Ha! A man of action! Nil desperandum, eh? Let me have a look at it."
He mounted on the table, and thrust his hand into the opening.
"I say, youngster," he said, a note of eagerness in his voice, "there is a chance, on my life there is. The boards above are not over firm. We may be skipping out of the frying-pan into the fire, but one can only die once. Continue with your work; I'll mount guard and warn you of anyone approaching."
Kenneth scraped away with his penknife, until the hole was large enough to admit his head and shoulders. The light, coming through a single crack, did not increase, so that the enlargement of the hole might easily escape notice if a constable entered. The stranger put the chair on the table.
"Mount on that," he said; "put your back against the boards, and shove--gently."
Kenneth did as he was instructed. The pressure of his back started the nails, and a plank rose, with an alarming creak.
"That won't be heard through the rumble of traffic outside," said the man. "Wait a little. You don't know anything of the room above?"
"Nothing. I heard somebody go in and out a while ago; I think it is empty."
"Well now: let us keep cool. We can get into the room: that is certain. Can we get out of it? We shall have to descend the stairs. Our chance of life depends on one half-minute. 'Can a man die better than facing fearful odds?' Look here: we'll toss. Heads: we'll go up; tails--why, hang it, we'll still go up! Fortuna fortibus! Wait till we hear the rumble of the next artillery wagon; then! ..."