"We couldn't force it, anyway," Tom said.
"My head's pounding like a hammerr," said Archer after a few minutes more of silence.
"Hold some of that damp straw to it.—How many matches did she give you?"
"Wish I had a knife.—Have you got that piece of wire yet?"
"Surre I have," said Archer, hauling from his pocket about five inches of barbed wire—the treasured memento of his escape from the Hun prison camp. "You laughed at me for always gettin' sooveneerrs; now you see—— What you want it for?"
"Sh-h. How many barbs has it?" asked Tom in a cautious whisper.
"Three."
"Let's have it; give me a couple o' matches, too."
Holding a lighted match under the place where he thought the iron padlock band must be, he scrutinized the under side of the door for any sign of it.