“But if we can’t help it,” began Andrew.
“But we will help it, we won’t be beaten,” she said, “I’ve thought of something,” she went on, with sudden inspiration. “Hand up your tools, Andrew, I’ve got an idea.”
Snatching the gimlet from Andrew, Di went on her knees. With a will, she set to work to bore a hole in one of the lower panels of the door.
“Do you see what I’m doing?” she asked, without raising her head from her work. “I’m going to drill a hole.”
“Oh! Just big enough to peep through, I suppose,” said Andrew, thinking this was a splendid idea.
“Big enough, you booby, to put our hands through first of all, and then our bodies afterwards,” retorted Di.
“O-oh!” was all Andrew found to say. He was quite determined that it should be Di’s hand that went in first.
For some time, Di worked away laboriously with the gimlet.
Then she paused. “I can’t get on with this,” she said, “I must try something else. Go half-way down the stairs, Andrew, and stand there and listen if you can hear me at work. It won’t do to attract Libbie’s attention. Go quietly.”
“It’s all right,” reported Andrew, returning from executing Di’s orders. “I couldn’t hear a sound, not from you, at least, but there’s no end of a row going on downstairs. Libbie must have some friends to help her, for they are jawing no end in the brew-house.”