German, or French --"

"He is a scoundrel, that is enough!" said Uncle Prudent. "Now to
work." And then the two men, with their hands stretched out and their
fingers wide apart, began to feel round the walls to find a joint or
crack.

Nothing. Nothing; not even at the door. It was closely shut and it
was impossible to shoot back the lock. All that could be done was to
make a hole, and escape through the hole. It remained to be seen if
the knives could cut into the walls.

"But whence comes this never-ending rustling?" asked Evans, who was
much impressed at the continuous f-r-r-r.

"The wind, doubtless," said Uncle Prudent.

"The wind! But I thought the night was quite calm."

"So it was. But if it isn't the wind, what can it be?"

Phil Evans got out the best blade of his knife and set to work on the
wall near the door. Perhaps he might make a hole which would enable
him to open it from the outside should it be only bolted or should
the key have been left in the lock. He worked away for some minutes.
The only result was to nip up his knife, to snip off its point, and
transform what was left of the blade into a saw.

"Doesn't it cut?" asked Uncle Prudent.