“I know the breed,” retorted Larry with a shake of his head. “Once he got the idea in his head he was bound to go on with it. Some of these Johns may not have any brains, but they stick to an idea. He’d have pulled the house down to make sure. We may not be out of the wood, but we’ve got a breathing spell.”

Billy grunted uncertainly and Larry emitted a sharp order for quiet beneath his breath. The tunnel was rising at a sharp angle and narrowed so rapidly that they were compelled to take single file and crawl. Rough timbers supported the top for the last twenty yards or so and then for about the length of a man the way finished in an acute angle of about forty-five degrees. Larry, who was leading, stretched himself at full length and, stealthily withdrawing some bolts, raised a trapdoor of about two feet square a matter of inches, and peered without. Satisfied with his preliminary scrutiny he pushed the trap higher and crawled to the outer air.