They kicked, with what strength was left them; and at the third onslaught a panel of the shaky door started outwards, letting in a gush of fresh air and light:
“Hurrah!” said Jim. “We’ll probably have the neighbourhood here in a minute, so we may as well go on kicking. Can you manage it?”
“Rather!” Wally panted. They attacked the next panel with fury. It fell out in a moment, leaving a hole wide enough to crawl through.
“No one in sight,” said Jim, putting out his head. “My word, the air is good. Come on, old man, I’m going to chance it.”
“Take care you don’t get another bang on the head,” Wally warned, watching his chum squeeze through the narrow space, and realising how helpless he would be in case of an attack. It was with immense relief that he saw Jim safely through, and, stooping, watched him scramble to his feet.
“No one in sight,” Jim said. “Everything silent. Can you get through, Wal?”
“Oh, yes!” said Wally, trying to steady his swimming head. He crawled through the hole, finding Jim’s arm waiting to aid him to his feet. For a moment they blinked at each other in the strong sunlight. Then, weak and aching as they were, they burst out laughing.
“Great Scott, Jimmy, you do look lovely!” Wally gasped. “Am I like that?”
“I don’t know how I look, but I’m ready to swear that you’re worse!” Jim answered. “They were certainly thorough, those Zulu gentlemen!”
They had been thorough. The immaculate lads who had strolled out of the hotel in the morning were tattered scarecrows, clad in shirt and trousers only—and those garments torn, and filthy from the straw on which they had been thrown. Nothing whatever of personal property remained to them. They were ghastly pale, their faces streaked with blood which had flowed freely from cuts and wounds, and had mingled with dirt into a remarkable colour scheme. Jim, in addition, possessed a pair of black eyes that could scarcely have been surpassed in richness of hue; while any German duelling student would have envied the cut which seamed Wally’s cheek.