"The Captain might appeal to the British Embassy," suggested Fordyce.
"I don't think that would be much good, sir," replied Chalmers. "From what I've seen of this blessed country, British interest don't seem to count for much. No, sir; it's no use trusting to others; we'll have to work for ourselves."
"Quite so, Chalmers," agreed the Sub; "but I'm sorry I got you into this mess."
"Don't you worry about me, sir," protested the imperturbable sailor. "I'm quite content to follow my senior officer's movements without asking questions. I'll just try my knife on that window."
"One moment," interposed Fordyce. "This lamp won't burn so very much longer. Keep the door of the stove open, and throw on some more wood; we'll have to work by fire-light."
This done, and the lamp blown out, Chalmers set to work to loosen the mortar in which were set the iron bars of the window.
For nearly an hour he toiled diligently, until the sweat poured down his face in spite of the cold blast of air through the opening. But the effort was in vain. It was the blade of his knife that was diminishing, not the cement, which was as hard as cast iron.
"I'll knock off, sir," he said, scratching his head in his disappointment. "Might go on for a whole month of Sundays, and yet get no forrader."
"We'll try to get those bars red-hot," declared Fordyce. "We've plenty of wood. Once we get the iron soft we can knock them out by using a log as a maul."
"Might be done, sir," admitted Chalmers. "No harm in trying; it'll keep us out of mischief, in a manner of speaking."