“Neither,” Tom replied. “But we’ll have to give this up.”
“Why?”
“There’s an iron plate outside this door. I’ve cut through the wood and come to the iron. It’s all off.”
It was a bitter disappointment.
“We’ll try something else in the morning,” decided Tom after a moment, closing his knife with a snap. “Meanwhile, I’m going to get some rest.”
“Yes, we both need it,” admitted Ned, with a weary sigh. “But when they come in here in the morning and see what we’ve done in the way of spoiling their door, they may take us to another room.”
“No use crossing a bridge until we come to it,” Tom responded. “I’m going to get some sleep.”
They ate a little of the food, and then, bracing a chair under the knob of the door to prevent an entrance without causing noise enough to arouse them, the two threw themselves on the bed and slept the sleep of exhaustion.
Faint daylight was struggling through the barred window next morning when Tom awoke and sat up. There was a peculiar noise for which at first he could not account. He looked toward the casement and then recognized the dash of rain against the glass and heard the roar of wind. It was this that caused the racket.
“What’s the matter?” asked Ned, turning over.