The pressure below raised it perhaps three inches, then it stuck.
"We'll put another pile on each side, to make all secure," said Armstrong. "Then I think we needn't worry."
With less haste they erected the buttress piles, listening grimly to the hoarse curses of Rush, and shriller cries from a foreigner by whose voice they recognised the Italian chauffeur. In a few minutes their work was done. Short of an explosion, nothing could dislodge the jam of boxes between the flagstone and the roof.
Panting from the strain of their exertions, they went up into the tower.
"Where's Phil?" asked Armstrong.
"I don't know," replied Pratt, going on to relate rapidly his discovery at the end of the tunnel.
"They've got him, I expect," said Armstrong. "Though I can't make out how they came to leave this hammer and chisel."
"What has happened here?" asked Pratt.
"Nothing. Gradoff and the others waited outside for a bit, talking quietly. I couldn't understand what they said. Then Gradoff sent the chauffeur towards the house, and by and by went off himself in the direction of the river, leaving the two strangers behind. Evidently he had sent the chauffeur for a rope. Perhaps he thought Jensen had drunk himself silly, and decided to let a man down the well--a much shorter way than going across to the island and entering by the tunnel. The fat's in the fire now. If we release your uncle we can't get him away."
"No," replied Pratt, looking through the chink in the boards. "Here they come: Gradoff, Rod, the Pole, the whole gang except the fellows below. It strikes me we are squarely trapped."