The Master himself, assuming all risks,
got down on hands and knees and explored the crack in the floor. It
was square, with a dimension of about five feet on the edge.
"It's a trap-door, all right," he announced. "And we--are going to
open it!"
"One would need a rope or a long lever to do that, my Captain," put
in Leclair. "It is obvious that a man, or men, standing on the trap,
could not raise it. And it is too large to straddle."
The Master arose, stripped off his tunic and passed it through
the ring. He twisted the tunic and gave one end to the lieutenant.
Himself, he took the other.
"Get hold, everybody!" he commanded. "And be sure you're not standing
on the trap!"
All laid hold on the ends of the coat. With a "One, two,
three!" from the Master, the Legionaries threw all their muscle into
the lift. "Now, men! Heave her once more!"
The stone gave. The Legionaries doubled their efforts, with panting
breath, feet that slipped on the dank floor, grunts of labor.
"Heave her!"
Up swung the stone, aside. It slid over the wet rock. There, in its
place, gaped a black hole that penetrated unknown depths.
Steam billowed up--or rather, vapor distinctly warm to the touch.
Pages:
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480