"Do it now!" she said, almost incoherently. "Do it now! I believe
one of the panels is giving."
He charged it once more, and then again.
"The panel's giving," said Janet.
He flung down the chair from his shoulders. The panel had splintered
from its joining at the bottom. He could just push it forward a little,
making a slight aperture.
"Get the poker!" he said firmly.
She ran obediently and brought it to him. He prized it into the gap,
levered it forward until there was room for his fingers to squeeze
through; then he thrust them in and used the strength of his arm,
an additional lever, to push an opening down towards the key inside.
"Mind your arm," said Janet; "you're tearing the skin."
He made no reply--forced his hand still further through the gap until
the splinters of wood were cutting into the flesh and the blood was
dripping down in red blotches on the white paint of the door. She
glanced at his face. It was grey. The pupils of his eyes were large
with fear. His breath was hunting through his nostrils as he strained
to reach the key.
"Now I've got it," he whispered. "Prize that open with the poker as
far as you can or I'll never get my hand back.
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