"Come on, I tell you—you'll get some fresh air in a minute," rejoined Old Parr. "Halloa! how's this? No outlet. We're come to a dead stop."
"Dead stop, indeed!" echoed the iron-merchant. "We've come to that long ago. But what new difficulty has arisen?"
"Merely that the road's blocked up by a solid wall—that's all," replied Old Parr.
"Blocked up!" exclaimed Thorneycroft. "Then we're entombed alive."
"I am," said the dwarf, with affected nonchalance. "As to you, you've the comfort of knowing it'll soon be over with you. But for me, nothing can harm me."
"Don't be too sure of that," cried a voice above them.
"Did you speak, Mr. Thorneycroft?" asked the dwarf.
"N-o-o—not I," gasped the iron-merchant. "I'm suffocating—help to drag me out."
"Get out if you can," cried the voice that had just spoken.
"It's Rougemont himself," cried the dwarf in alarm. "Then there's no escape."