to know who knocked.

"English soldiers," answered the lieutenant in Portuguese. "Open!"

A faint exclamation suggestive of dismay was the answer, the
shutter closed again with a snap, the shuffling steps retreated and
unbroken silence followed.

"Now wharra devil may this mean?" growled Mr. Butler. Drugged wits,
like stupid ones, are readily suspicious. "Wharra they hatching in
here that they :are afraid of lerring Bri'ish soldiers see? Knock
again, Flanagan. Louder, man!"

The sergeant beat the door with the butt of his carbine. The blows
gave out a hollow echo, but evoked no more answer than if they had
fallen upon the door of a mausoleum. Mr. Butler completely lost his
temper. "Seems to me that we've stumbled upon a hotbed o' treason.
Hotbed o' treason!" he repeated, as if pleased with the phrase.
"That's wharrit is." And he added peremptorily: "Break down the
door."

"But, sir," began the sergeant in protest, greatly daring.

"Break down the door," repeated Mr. Butler. Lerrus be after seeing
wha' these monks are afraid of showing us. I've a notion they're
hiding more'n their wine."

Some of the troopers carried axes precisely against such an emergency
as this. Dismounting, they fell upon the door with a will. But the
oak was stout, fortified by bands of iron and great iron studs; and