It was fully an hour before the boys had any assurance that the tunnel really did have an end.
This assurance was a heavily grated door set in solid masonry.
“Now we are done,” was Billy’s despairing prediction.
“Never say quit; that isn’t like you.”
It was seldom that Henri assumed the rôle of bracer-up to Billy. It had been generally the other way, but Billy was willing to acknowledge that he was not much of a cave man. He liked the open too well.
There were faint streaks of daylight threading through the grated spaces of the door. That was something for which to be thankful.
Reddy was giving the rusty grating a lively shake when with a clang something hit the stone floor of the tunnel.
It was a key of the kind that locksmiths used to make by the pound.
The key had been suspended from a hook at the side of the door, and Reddy’s vigorous attack on the grating had caused it to fall.
Henri pushed the key into the ponderous lock and with a strong-arm twist succeeded in making it turn. The rusty bolt screeched as it was drawn back, but the door could be opened, and it was opened by the main pulling strength of three husky youngsters.