“Elfreda, can you find that post that we fell over on the rear side of this place?” she called.
“Yes, here it is.” She carried the post to the front. It was heavy, undoubtedly having been used for a supporting post for the floor above at one time, but Grace found it too heavy for one person to use as she wished to use it.
“Elfreda, if you will take hold of this end and stand before the door, steering the post against it as I thrust, I believe we shall be able to smash the miserable thing.”
“Grace Harlowe, you will be court-martialed if you do that—if you break out. Don’t you know that you are at least theoretically under arrest?”
“So are you, but that will not stop me from getting out if I can. Take hold here, please.”
Elfreda did so reluctantly. The two girls then backed up several feet from the door, Grace at the far end of the post, Elfreda near the door end of it.
“When I say Go! run with all your might. Steer the post squarely against the door or you are going to get hurt. Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
“Go!”
A patter of feet, a sharp impact, and a crash followed almost instantly. Elfreda Briggs plunged headfirst into the wreckage, for the door had been stripped from its hinges and broken into many pieces. Grace Harlowe landed on the cellar floor on top of the post, with her breath jolted out of her.