not know how long I had remained in this position and condition,
whether minutes or hours; but when at last I roused myself, and looked
about, a singular thing had happened.

The inspector had gone. The watchman had gone. I was alone in the
broker's office. And I was locked in.

CHAPTER VI.

So often and so idly it is our custom to say, I shall never forget!
that the words scarcely cause a ripple of comment in the mind; whereas,
in fact, they are among the most audacious which we ever take upon our
lips. How know we what law of selection our memories will obey in that
system of mental relations which we call "forever"?

I, who believe myself to have obtained some especial knowledge upon
this point, not possessed by all my readers, and to be more free than
many another to use such language, still retreat before the phrase, and
content myself with saying, "I have never forgotten." Up to this time
I have never been able to forget the smallest detail of that night
whose history I am now to record. It seems to me impossible in any set
of conditions that memory could blot that experience from my being; but
of that what know I? No more than I know of the politics of a meteor.

Upon discovering my predicament I was, of course, greatly disturbed. I
tried the door, and tried again; I urged the latch violently; I exerted
myself till the mere moral sense of my helplessness overcame my
strength. I called to the watchman, whose distant steps I heard, or
fancied that I heard, pacing the corridors. There was a Safe Deposit
in the basement, and the great building was heavily guarded. I shouted
for my liberty, I pleaded for it, I demanded it; but I did not get it.
No one answered me. I ran to the barred windows and shook the iron
casement as prisoners and madmen do. Nobody heard me. I bethought me
of the private telegraph which stood by Brake's desk, mute and
mysterious, like a thing that waited an order to speak. I could not
help wondering, with something like superstition, what would be the
next words which would pass the lips of the silent metal. It occurred
to me, of course, to telegraph for relief; but I did not know how, and
a kind of respect for the intelligence and power of the instrument
deterred me from meddling with it to no visible end. Suddenly I
remembered the electric signal which so often communicates with
watchman or police in places of this kind. This, after some search, I
found in a corner,