"Right!" cried the Sergeant.

The blows ceased.

Firmly grasping the bar, Burton brought all his weight to bear upon
it. There was a dull, cracking sound and a sort of rasping. The door
moved slightly.

"There's where it locks!" said the Inspector, directing the light of a
lantern upon the crevice created. "Three inches lower. But it may be
bolted as well."

"We'll soon get at the bolts," replied Burton, the lust of destruction
now strong upon him.

Wrenching the crowbar from its place he attacked the lower panel of
the door, and amid a loud splintering and crashing created a hole big
enough to allow of the passage of a hand and arm.

The Inspector reached in, groped about, and then uttered an
exclamation of triumph.

"I've unfastened the bolt," he said. "If there isn't another at the
top you ought to be able to force the door now, Burton."

The jimmy was thrust back into position, and:

"Stand clear!" cried Burton.

Again he threw his weight upon the bar--and again.