"Fermez la porte!"
The words, in a savage, half-suppressed shout, sounded from some little distance away in the direction of the house. The man addressed hastily closed the door behind him, and went on. Warrender saw another man meet him. They stopped and exchanged a few words. Rod continued his way to the house, his progress faintly marked by the rattling cans. The other man came towards the tower. He opened the door quickly, slipped inside, and shut it. In the one second during which the light shone out, Warrender recognised the pale face of Paul Gradoff.
He hurried round to the spot where Armstrong had remained on guard.
"All right!" he whispered. "No sentry. Rod has just gone to the house; Gradoff has gone in."
"Well," returned Armstrong, "what can we do?"
"We'll try the door first of all. Come on!"
They moved with slow, careful steps round the tower, came to the door, and gently tried the handle. There was no yielding; the door was fastened. They went on to the western face of the tower. Here also there was a window opening on the ground floor, as securely boarded up as the other. At equal intervals above it were two other embrasures, similarly blocked.
"No way of getting in," murmured Armstrong.
The sound of the door creaking sent them scurrying to cover in the undergrowth. When all was silent again, Warrender whispered--
"Come among the trees. We can talk more freely there."