He walked over and turned the knob softly. It refused to budge an inch. Then Bud applied more pressure. This time it turned slowly. Hope rang in Bud's heart as he felt the latch click back, then as he remembered hearing the door bolted his heart sank again. Still he turned the knob as far as it would go, and pushed. The door opened about half an inch. Then it stuck. Bud's hand dropped from the knob, and he ran his fingers along the crack. Half way up they encountered cold metal--a chain which allowed the door to open only a little, then held. Bud seemed as securely fastened as though he had been unable to budge the door at all. Then he thought it was possible the bolt worked on a slide, and if he could reach through the crack and ease it out of the slide, he would be free. "A knife would do the trick," he thought. "Nothing like that around here. I wonder if my belt buckle would do?" He tried forcing it through the crack. "Nope. Not long enough. Isn't there something about the room I could use? Chair--that's no good. Neither is the table. Water pitcher--can't see what good that is. Porcelain, I guess." He ran his hand over the pitcher. "Yep. Well, that doesn't seem to help. Unless--" he hesitated. A thought struck him. "If I could break it and use a piece of it like a knife I'll bet I could scrape that bolt over! But how can I break it without making a racket and bringing Delton and his gang rushing in?" Bud thought a moment. Then he snapped his fingers softly, and his eyes lit up. "I've got it!" he whispered. Taking off his vest and shirt he wrapped the pitcher well in them, after pouring out the water. Then he tapped it gently against the window-sill. It made almost no noise, so he hit it harder. After a few tries he felt it break. As he unwrapped his bundle of shattered porcelain he saw he had, luckily, broken a piece just the size he wanted. He replaced his shirt and vest and with the piece of pitcher in his hand he made once more for the door, this time with a real hope of escaping. "Just the right length!" Bud exalted as he slid the narrow knife-like porcelain through the crack in the door and against the bolt. Then he started to coax the bolt from its slide. Softly, softly he scraped against the iron, and to his delight felt it move ever so little. He could not open the door to its full extent in his endeavor to slip the bolt, for this would tighten the chain and hold the metal piece more firmly in its slide. He had to work with his left hand holding the door at the proper angle and his right hand using the piece of the water pitcher. It was tiresome work. Several times Bud halted as he heard footsteps in the hall outside, but they went on their way without stopping. The porcelain was rapidly wearing down. Its edge had already become dulled, and no longer offered the purchase on the iron that it did at first. But finally Bud succeeded--the bolt slid back.