He tried the door knob. The barrier was locked.
"Locked," he whispered. "What shall we do?"
In the dim light on the landing, they stared at each other in dismay.
Here was a contingency which had occurred to neither.
The whispering, the careful trying of the door, the sound of their
footsteps--these had aroused Mr. Hampton from his reading on the other
side of the door.
"Who's there?" he called sharply.
Jack set his mouth close to the keyhole.
"Dad," he whispered tensely. "It's Jack. Don't make a noise. I've come
to rescue you."
There was a moment of silence, then the sound of rapid footsteps
crossing the room.
"Jack?" Mr. Hampton also had stooped to the keyhole. "It can't be. Yet
that voice! My boy, my boy. But how in the world did you come here?"
"Too long to tell, Dad," whispered Jack. "But have you the key to this
door?"
"Key? No."
"Then," said Jack, despairingly, "it looks as if we were balked at the
end. This door is too stout to break down without bringing the enemy
on us. It's thick and bound with iron straps besides."
"Who is with you?"
"Bob. No. I mean Miss Calomares. She's helping me."
"This is too much for me," declared Mr. Hampton.
"Dad, we'll have to break down the door.
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