A hideous screeching followed, the protests of rusty and greaseless machinery. Twisting his neck, Barcus saw the dim opening of the shaft slowly closing, as if a curtain were being drawn down over it. Jimmy was closing the bulkhead door, leaving them definitely prisoners, beyond human aid.
The silence was broken by Alan's voice:
"Barcus!"
The latter grunted by way of answer, he could do no more.
"I've worked my gag loose," Alan pursued, "but my hands are tied behind my back. Are yours? Grunt once for 'yes.'"
Dutifully Barcus grunted a solitary grunt.
"Then roll over on your face and give me a chance at your bonds with my teeth."
Barcus wasted no time in obeying Alan's suggestion—then lay for upward of ten minutes with his face in the mould of the tunnel while Alan chewed and spat and chewed again at the ropes round the wrists of his friend.
It seemed upward of an hour before the bonds grew slack and Barcus worried a hand free, then loosed the other, removed his gag, and set hastily about freeing his friend. That took but a few instants—little more than was needed to rid Rose of her bonds.
That much accomplished, a pause of consternation followed. The darkness was absolute in the tunnel,
