“I guess old Harley must have used this place to store his smuggled goods at some time or other,” hazarded Nat, as they ascended the steps; “it must have made an ideal place for the purpose, too.”
“Well, I hope it wasn’t made to store two boys in,” commented Joe.
“Not these two, anyhow, let’s hope,” added Nat.
They were not surprised to find that the door at the head of the steps did not yield to their shovings.
“I’ll bet they’ve weighted it down with old rocks and debris,” cried Nat, recalling sundry noises he had heard on the door after it was slammed shut.
“What shall we do now?” wondered Joe, with a note of despair in his voice.
“Let’s look around down below and see if we can’t find something that we can use to force the door in some way,” said Nat.
They descended the steps once more, this time in the darkness, for it was necessary to husband their stock of matches. When they reached the floor of the old cellar Nat struck a light, and after one or two matches had been expended they were fortunate enough to discover in a corner of the place a stout oaken plank, which had apparently once formed part of a flooring.
“Good!” exclaimed Nat.
“I don’t quite see how that solves our problem,” commented Joe.