CHAPTER XVI.
THE NOISE WHICH CAME FROM THE PASSAGE.
Smash, crash, smash! Pollie had thrust me aside. She was battering at the door with her poker, issuing, as she did so, her instructions to me.
“Light a match, you idiot! light a match!”
I did. She paused to enable her to learn, by the aid of its uncertain flicker, what effect her blows had had upon the door.
“Give it to me. Light another! Do as I tell you, keep on lighting one. I’ll do all that there is to do; all you have to do is to keep a light upon the scene. Do you hear?—I thought that poker would be equal to a wooden door.”
She had broken in one of the panels, leaving a hole almost large enough for her to put her hand through.
“Give me another match; as many as you can; as fast as you can!”
I gave her them as quickly as I could get them lighted. She held half a dozen between her fingers at a time. Keeping her face close to the break in the panel she endeavoured, by their light, to see what was without.
“Now, Mr. Bogey-man, where are you? Step to the front, don’t be shy! Let’s see what kind of an article you are. It’s only Pollie Blyth, you pretty thing; you’re not afraid of Pollie Blyth? Perhaps you’re the father of the daughter of the gods; if so, I’m sure I should like to have a peep at you, you must
