"Nothing," came the reply. "But hustle some; I'm right keen on seeing you."
Considering Hamerton had been "hustling" like a nigger for hours this request struck him as being a cool one; but, guessing rightly that it was owing solely to Detroit's enthusiasm at the prospect of being joined by his chum, the Sub began to tackle the new phase of his arduous task.
Feeling for a stone that projected farther than the rest, Hamerton began to tug at it with his hands. It was seemingly immovable. He realized that the only way to shift it was to dig out the cement, as he had done in the case of the one in his cell. But there was a difference. He had to be on his back; the dust fell upon him, getting into his eyes, nose, and mouth, and causing him acute discomfort. Only by his sense of touch could he determine whether he was attacking the cement or merely the hard stone.
At length his physical strength began to fail; his arms refused to obey the dictates of his active mind. Reluctantly he abandoned his task for that night and painfully crawled back to his bed. It was then a quarter-past three. For close on two hours and a half he had toiled under adverse conditions, yet the result of his labours was satisfactory. He had almost established a direct communication with his friend without having recourse only to conversation in Morse.
With this solace to act as balm to his wearied body the Sub was soon fast asleep, nor did he awake till his jailers appeared with his breakfast.
CHAPTER XII
Investigations
On the following night, as soon as the bugles sounded "Lights out", Hamerton returned to his labours. Barricading the door and wrenching up the loosened slabs of stone, he descended beneath the floor, wriggled through the hole in the parting wall with comparative ease, and with renewed energy began to prise away at the stubborn cement. At about every quarter of an hour he would seize the projecting stone and shake it violently. Perhaps he had become hardened to the work, for he imagined that the cement was not so hard or tenacious as it had been when he began operations. "The cement is cracking," signalled Detroit, who for the last two hours had been lying at full length on the floor feeling for the first decisive tremor of the paving stone.
Then Hamerton had an inspiration. He knew that the stone was wedge-shaped; perhaps by pressing upwards against it he might force it out of position.
Crouching immediately under the projecting piece of masonry, he applied his shoulder to the base of the wedge and exerted all his strength.