They were on the courtyard pavement. Near by an end of the inner building was visible as a dark outline; they moved noiselessly across the open space and crouched against the brick wall of the laboratory.
"How far are we from the door, Charlie?"
"Not far. There's a wheelbarrow there somebody left this afternoon. Let's hide by it."
They came upon the wheelbarrow. It was standing up against the laboratory wall. Its shelter was hardly necessary; the yard here was solid black.
"Where's the door?" Alan whispered.
"Right here. What you going to do?"
Alan stood at the door. His fumbling hands felt of it. There was no knob; an iron door, set in a brick and iron casement. His fingers felt a lock, sunk in the metal of the door.
Alan laid his bag at his feet. No chance of forcing this lock. Turber and the Indian would doubtless be coming presently. Whatever Alan could do must be done now.
In the solid darkness at his elbow, Charlie's voice whispered again: "What you going to do?"