“I’d give something big for a gun,” offered Billy when repeated yells for help in chorus had counted for nothing.
“Here they come!” shouted Henri.
“Let ’em think we’re still in the ring.”
Billy followed the words by heaving the paving stone, which he had retained for the finish, into the thick of the leaping spiders.
Pressed against the door, the boys gave up all hope of escaping the knives of their assailants.
Jimmy as a last duty kept the brass knocker thumping like a bass-drum.
Suddenly the door swung back, the boys fell into the opening like a cluster of ninepins scattered by a bowling ball, and as quickly the door slammed shut in the faces of the baffled spiders. The boys heard the settling sound of heavy bolts in their sockets.
The hall into which the four had tumbled with so little ceremony was sable black to the sight, and with the settling of the bolts as silent as the grave.
“If this isn’t about the rummest go yet, I don’t know what,” was Billy’s stage whisper, as he rubbed a bruised elbow.
“If there’s any next to this, lead me to it quick.”