"A tough nut to crack," remarked Rollo, as he noticed for the first time the jagged glass gleaming in the red glare of the burning houses.
"We'll come across a door, unless I'm much mistaken—— Hullo! that's a nasty one," said Kenneth.
A shower of shrapnel, rattling on the roofs and shattering the windows of some houses in the street they had just left, occasioned this exclamation; for the Germans were mostly using shells of this variety, to terrify the inhabitants rather than to cause great material damage.
"Quite near enough," rejoined Rollo coolly. "Here's the door."
The lads tried it. It was locked and bolted. The stout oaken framework resisted their efforts to burst it open with their shoulders.
Kenneth unslung his rifle. One shot amidst that chaos of terrific detonations would be practically inaudible, and even if it were heard there were none sufficiently curious to ascertain the reason.
The heavy lock was not proof against the high-velocity bullet. A second shot demolished the bolt. The gate creaked on its hinges.
Passing along the garden path amidst autumn flowers mown down by the explosion of shells, several of which had fallen close to the house, the lads arrived at the boat-house. The windows were shattered; there was a gaping hole in the roof. Kenneth began to entertain grave doubts as to whether the motor-boat had escaped damage.
"She's there, right enough," he announced, as he peered through one of the broken windows and saw the grey-painted outlines of the craft within. "The door's locked. I'll try another shot."
"Steady on, man!" cautioned his companion. "Mind you don't bore a hole through the boat as well. See, here is a crowbar, or something like it. We'll prise the door open."