“Well, mausoleum or muskiloleum makes no difference to me, sir.  What I wants ter know is—­’ow do we get out of this charmin’ little country seat?  Try the trap-door, you ses.  Right you are!”

He was up the rough steps like a shot, forgetful of the fact that, though the door might be closed, there might also be others strolling along in that secluded spot.  Cleek came up now, behind him, and with a caution of silence steadied himself upon the step below, and pressed his shoulder up against the heavy door.  He pushed and shoved with all his might, while Dollops aided with every ounce of strength in his young body.

The door responded not one whit.  Black Whiskers had done his work well and thoroughly, possibly as an object-lesson to the absent Jenkins.  And Jenkins, by the way, was the name of Cleek’s new-found friend of the factory.  H’m.  That was cause for thought.  Then Jenkins was more “in the know” than he had given him credit for.  Possibly Black Whiskers knew already of their conversation at dinner-time.  He’d have to close down on that source of information, at any rate—­if they ever got out of this business alive.

These thoughts passed through Cleek’s brain even while his shoulders and his strength were at work upon the unresponsive door.  Only failure marked their efforts.  At last, breathless and exhausted from the strain, Cleek descended the steps again.  He listened, and, hearing nothing, signalled Dollops to follow him.

“They must have got in somewhere, and here’s hoping it wasn’t through this trap-door,” he said evenly.  “We’ll see about it anyway.  Unless they were as careful with the door at the other end.  It’s a sporting chance, Dollops my lad, and we’ve got to take it.  I’ll use my torch unless we hear anything.  Then we’ll have to trust to luck.  Heaven alone knows how far this blessed affair runs on.  We’ll reach London soon, if we go on like this!”

“Yus, and find ourselves in Mr. Narkom’s office, a-burrowin’ under ’is ‘Ighness’ desk!” finished Dollops, with a little giggle of amusement.  “And ’e wouldn’t ’arf be astonished, would ’e, sir?...  Crumbs! but the chaps wot made this bloomin’ tube did their job fair, didn’t they?  It goes on forever....  Whew!  I’m winded already.”

“Then what you’ll be by the end of this affair, goodness knows, my lad!” responded Cleek, over his shoulder.  He was pressing on, hugging the wall, his eyes peering into the gloom ahead.  “It seems to be continuing for some time.  Hello! here’s a turning, and the question is, shall we go straight on, or turn?”

“Seems as if them two blighters came round a turnin’, judging from the nearness of their voices, sir,” said Dollops, with entire sense.

Cleek nodded.

“You’re right....  More sacks.  If I wasn’t so anxious to get out of this place so that you shouldn’t be late for your ‘appointment’ with our friend Black Whiskers, I’d chance my luck and have a look what was in ’em.  But there’s no time now.  We don’t know how long this peculiar journey of ours is going to last.”