"I have got it; I have got it! My God! I believe I have got it!" I cried, seizing him by the arm.
"Got what?" he replied, staring wildly at me.
"Why, the secret—the curse—the door. Don't you see?"
I pulled out the large knife I always carry by a chain and swivel in my trouser pocket, and telling Clinton to hold the lantern, opened the little blade-saw and attacked the coffin with it.
"I believe the secret of our deliverance lies in this," I panted, working away furiously.
In ten minutes I had sawn half through the wooden edge, then, handing my tool to Clinton, I told him to continue the work while I rested. After a few minutes I took the knife again, and at last, after nearly half an hour had gone by, succeeded in making a small hole in the lid. Inserting my two fingers, I felt some rough, uneven masses. I was now fearfully excited. Tearing at the opening like a madman, I enlarged it and extracted what looked like a large piece of coal. I knew in an instant what it was. It was magnetic iron-ore. Holding it down to my knife, the blade flew to it.
"Here is the mystery of the soul," I cried; "now we can use it to open the door."
I had known a great conjurer once, who had deceived and puzzled his audience with a box trick on similar lines: the man opening the box from the inside by drawing down the lock with a magnet. Would this do the same? I felt that our lives hung on the next moment. Taking the mass, I pressed it against the door just opposite the hasp, and slid it up against the wood. My heart leapt as I heard the hasp fly up outside, and with a push the door opened.
"We are saved," I shouted. "We are saved by a miracle!"
"Bell, you are a genius," gasped poor Clinton; "but now, how about the stone at the end of the passage?"