The Dark House Part 22

"But this poor fellow?"

"He's not killed, only quieted. Now, then, what is there here?"

They made a hurried search of the room, but with the exception of the silver tops of the bottles of the Colonel's dressing-case, there was nothing to excite their cupidity. Then Capel's pockets were searched, but watch and purse were in his chamber, while, though the Colonel's room was full of costly objects, they were not of the portable nature that would have made them valuable to the men.

"Now then," said the tall man, quickly, "it's of no use; we must go down. Where are the keys?"

The little man took a bunch from the bag.

"But, suppose the old man's awake?" whispered the shivering ex-servant, faint from his wound.

"Well, if he is, we must persuade him to go to sleep, somehow, till we've done. Here, you come and hold the light while I hand him the keys."

The trembling man took the lantern, while his leader went down on one knee; and as his little companion handed him false keys and picklocks, he busied himself trying to open the door.

"Keep that light still, will you?" he cried menacingly. "Why, you're making it dance all over the door. I want it on the key-hole, don't I?"

Then the light shone full on the lock for a minute or two, not more, for he who held it kept turning his head to see if Capel was moving.

This brought forth a torrent of whispered oaths from both men.

"Here, let me have a try," whispered the little man. "I can open it if you'll hold this blessed glim still. I never see such a cur."

Then, in the coolest manner possible, he took the other's place, and tried key after key, picklock after picklock, and ended by throwing all into the bag with a growl of disgust.

"It's one of them stoopid patents," he cried. "Here, give us a james."

A strong steel crowbar in two pieces was screwed together, and its sharp edge inserted between the door and the post, but the great, solid mahogany door stood firm, only emitting now and then a loud crack, sharp as that given by a cart whip, as the men strained at it in turn.

"Here, let's try a saw. Centre-bit!"

A centre-bit was fitted into a stock, and a hole cut right through.

Into this, after much greasing, a key-hole saw was thrust, and, not without emitting a loud noise, the work of cutting began, the sawdust falling lightly on the lion's skin; but at the end of a few seconds a dull, harsh sound told that the saw was meeting metal, and a fresh start had to be made.

For fully two hours did the men work to get through, boring and sawing in place after place, but always to find that the door was strengthened in all directions with metal plates; and at last the task was given up.

"Look here," growled the leader of the party, "that bed isn't used. I want to know how that chap got in. He hasn't any key."

"Can't you get the door open, then?" said the third man, after the other had shaken his head.

"Why, don't you see we can't?"

"But we shall get nothing for our trouble."

"Nothing at all," said the tall man, quietly.

"But--"

"There, that'll do. First of all, you were so precious anxious to go.

Now you know we can't get down, you're all for the job. I say, is this the room where the murder was?"

"Yes; don't talk about it."

"Why not? We haven't done another. He'll come round."

"What next, d.i.c.k?"

"Cut," was the laconic reply.

"When there's all that plate asking of us to make up a small parcel and carry it away?"

"Don't patter. Got all the tools?"

"Yes."

"Then come along."

The light was played upon Capel's insensible face for a few moments, and then, to the intense relief of the ex-servant, the lantern was placed in the bag with the burglars' tools, and the window being thrown open, one by one stole out, the last closing the window behind him, leaving Capel lying helpless and insensible in the locked-up room.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

WAITING FOR BREAKFAST.

"Such a bright cheery morning, Lydia," said Katrine, knocking at the bedroom door. "Oh, you are up. Breakfast must be ready."

The two girls descended, to find that they were first.

"n.o.body down," cried Katrine, "and I am so hungry. Oh, how wicked it seems on a morning like this to keep out all the light and sunshine."

Just then, old Mr Girtle came in, looking, as usual, very quiet and thoughtful; and after a while Artis came down, looking dull and sleepy.

"Where's the boss?" he said, suddenly.

"The what?--I do not understand you," said the old lawyer.

"The master--the guardian of this tomb. Where's Capel?"

"Oh," said the old lawyer. "Possibly the fine morning may have tempted him to take a walk."

"Are we going to wait for Capel?" said Artis.

"I'm so hungry, I feel quite ashamed," said Katrine; "but I think we ought to wait."

"There is nothing to be ashamed of in a healthy young appet.i.te, my dear young lady," said the old lawyer. "I have been reading in my room since six, and I should like to begin. I don't suppose he will be long. Mr Capel out, Preenham?"

"I think not, sir," said the butler, who was bringing in a covered dish.