Cautiously, very cautiously, Beveridge began prying at the end of one of the big sticks.
“Shall I lend a hand, Bill?”
“No; it's got to be done without leaving any signs of our being here. It may take time—the thing is in for keeps, all right.”
During fully a quarter of an hour they stood there, Beveridge prying with the long blade of the knife, his companion watching him without a word. Finally Beveridge gave a suppressed exclamation.
“Fetched her?”
“Yes. Take hold—easy now.”
Together they pulled a long, circular plug from the end of the timber, and set it on the ground.
“Just put your arm in there, Bert.”
“Well, I 'll be——! Did she tell you about this?”
“She certainly did.”