Phil had dropped to his knees on the floor and examined the blood tracks carefully.
“Do you see?” he said to Sydney, close beside him, his voice low but excited, “the blood stops here. The wounded man stood here for a number of seconds, you can see that by the quantity of blood.”
He pounded the board with his bare fist; but it gave back a solid sound.
“Hit that board again,” cried Sydney, his eyes intent on the edge next the wall near him.
Phil struck the board a resounding blow.
Its edge moved ever so slightly. Sydney grasped a bayonet from a soldier and entered its sharp point between the edge of the board and the wall.
In but a moment the board had been removed and the lads peered down into a black pit from which the damp smell of earth came up to their nostrils.
The silence was breathless. The first to enter might be killed instantly by the enemy cornered like rats in the dark hole.
“Light, quick,” whispered Phil to a wide-eyed soldier.
One was soon brought and lowered into the yawning chamber.