“Perfectly!” was the prince’s drawling reply.
Chick drove the big blade of his knife diagonally into the wood, point downward, until it held firmly. This gave him some power to pull, although not so much as he would have liked.
“I can’t help much,” he explained. “You’ll have to do most of it by your weight. Now! Let her go!”
Chick tugged at the handle of the knife, and, at the same instant, Marcos charged against the door with one of his brawny shoulders. He used all the weight and power he could throw into the effort.
There was a cracking, followed quickly by a smash, and down came the ponderous wooden door to the ground.
Chick jumped out of the way just in time to avoid going down underneath. He had been prepared for the sudden falling of the heavy mass of wood, and had timed his movements exactly.
As the door went down, Marcos walked through the opening and held out his hand to Chick. The two men shook hands gravely.
“Infernally dark in here!” observed Marcos. “But I don’t think it is night yet.”
“No,” returned Chick. “I wish it were. We should have a better chance of getting away. What is your plan? I suppose you have one?”
“Certainly!” answered Marcos, with his customary coolness. “There is a ladder in the far corner of my cellar. At the top is a trapdoor. I have tried to open it. I can make it crack and strain, but I haven’t quite enough strength to push it up altogether.”