“Well, be quick then,” he said. “I can’t wait here all night.”
Tom did not answer.
He sprung up the stairs, and the first intimation the astonished ruffian had of his design was conveyed in the slamming to of the trap-door.
“Confusion!” he muttered. “The young rogue has outwitted me.”
He sprung forward, but in such haste that he tripped over a bale and measured his length on the floor, dropping his lantern at the same time. His temper by no means improved by this accident, he picked himself up, and springing up the narrow staircase, tried to raise the trap-door.
But Tom had drawn two bolts which fastened it above, and moreover, was dragging a heavy box to place upon it, so that the entrapped person found himself utterly unable to lift it.
“Open the door!” he shouted from below in mingled rage and fright.
“I’d rather not!” Tom shouted back in reply.
“If you don’t I’ll make it the worst for you, you young villain.”
“You’ll have to get at me first,” said Tom in a tone of aggravation.