“But not by hurting him.” Judy’s suspicions of the prisoner were forgotten. She was all sympathy now. She called gently, “We’re sorry, Dick! We didn’t mean to frighten you. We were just trying to get in and help—”
“Help!”
The cry sounded so faint and far away that it puzzled Judy.
“Was that only an echo?” she asked.
Horace did not answer. He was examining the crack in the lower panel. Presently he stood up, flashlight in hand.
“You may be right, sis,” he said. “There may be a better way. Watch this.”
Horace placed the flat of his hand against the cracked door panel and pushed with all his might. Judy heard a crack as a piece of the panel gave way and left a narrow opening through which her brother beamed his flashlight.
“Horrors!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t think it was that bad. I hope we’re not too late.”
“Is he Dick Hartwell?”
“Take a look for yourself,” he suggested, moving away from the opening. “He’s in pretty bad shape, whoever he is. Dick’s young, but this man looks old. Or is he? It’s hard to tell under all that brush.”