The Shark tried the nearest shutter. Its rusty catch proved obstinate, but at last gave way, and the shutter swung, revealing the small panes of the window. One or two were broken. Quite coolly the Shark smashed another, and cautiously thrust a hand through the opening.
“What! You’re going to break in?” Varley demanded.
“I sure am! If I can find the thing that fastens this window!” quoth the Shark. “No other way—that is, if we mean to get inside. We can pay for any damage we do afterward, but just now our business is to get somewhere out of the wet.”
A sharp increase in the downpour—and by this time it undeniably was a downpour—served to emphasize his words. Varley sprang to his assistance, and the Shark finding the nail which had served as a lock, their united efforts contrived to raise the lower sash. The Shark climbed and wriggled, and Varley boosted so energetically that at last the explorer shot through the opening and into the dimness of the room beyond. He was up in a minute and stretching out a hand to his ally, who lost no time in climbing after him.
“Whew! What faded-out air!” gasped the Shark.
“Yes; it’s all of that!” Varley agreed.
Indeed, the room was close and stuffy, as rooms long closed are likely to be. But it was a dry, if musty, closeness, a deal better than the wetness of out-of-doors. The Shark shook himself again.
“Gorry! Say, but this beats the other thing,” he declared. “Bet you that window hasn’t been open, though, in ten years; though the folks seem to have kept a lot of furniture here.”
Varley peered into the shadows. He could make out the shapes of a settle and a table, and something he took to be an ancient chest of drawers. Also he was quite sure there was a fireplace. Cold and black as it was, it drew him like a magnet. He started across the room, and now the Shark followed instead of led.
“Now look—I’ve the luck to have a box of matches along,” said he. “If we can find something to burn we——”