“What about a violent jerk?” he thought.
He explained to Gundra what he proposed to do. They both stood close to the wall. Martin got his hands firmly between Gundra’s body and the steel girdle; then at the same moment both he and the Indian made a sudden leap into the room. The staple was torn from its setting; the boys fell in a heap on the floor, and the metal rattled and clanged. Clasping each other, they listened breathlessly. Had the sounds been heard by the men above?
There were no cries, no sudden movement, no footsteps. Every now and then came the creaking of the pulley-block which had been going on at intervals ever since Martin had been brought into the room, and the exchange of a few words between the men who were presumably attending to the lowering of the goods. They were too much occupied with their task to notice the sounds in the room.
“Now to get out!” said Martin in a whisper. “I think I can find my way to the door.”
“Me come; no let go,” said Gundra, clinging to him.
They moved together in the direction of the door. The chain on the Indian boy’s girdle clanked.
“This won’t do,” said Martin. “Tuck it up inside the belt.”
When this was done they started again. Martin had taken his bearings by the light of the fat cook’s lantern, but in the pitch darkness he was at fault, and it was only by feeling round the wall that they at last reached the door. It was locked. There was no escape that way.
“Any windows?” asked Martin.
“No, sahib. But another door; oh, yes, over there.”