Again came the clanking of metal.
"He must be deaf," said Pratt.
"We have come to help you," cried Warrender, slowly and distinctly. "Can you open the door?"
"To help me!" The clanking was louder, more prolonged. "Are the villains gone? Who are you?"
"This is rotten," said Warrender to Pratt. "Shall I never make him understand? Please be still and listen," he called. "We are friends. We have come to let you out. Can you help us?"
"No. The door is locked. That man Gradoff has the key, and I am chained."
"Good heavens!" ejaculated Pratt. "Can we burst in the door?"
Standing on the narrow top step of the staircase, with winding stairs behind them, they were unable to bring any momentum to bear, and the pressure of their shoulders did not cause the heavy timber to yield a fraction of an inch. Warrender tried to force first the head of his spanner, then the narrower end of the handle between the door and the side-post. He failed.
"Get Jensen's pistol and blow it in," suggested Pratt.
Warrender hurried down the stairs. Returning with the pistol, he called through the keyhole--