hout it no one would ever
find the way to the vault that had remained a secret for ages. I was
determined, however, not to die without a struggle for freedom. Taking
the lantern, I examined every nook and cranny of the cell for some other
exit. It was a fruitless search. No sign of any way out could I find,
and we had absolutely no means to unfasten the door from the inner side.
Taking a few short steps, I flung myself again and again at the heavy
door. It never budged an inch, and, bruised and sweating at every pore,
I sat down on the coffin and tried to collect all my faculties.

Clinton was silent, and seemed utterly stunned. He sat still, gazing
with a vacant stare at the door.

The time dragged heavily, and there was nothing to do but to wait for a
horrible death from starvation. It was more than likely, too, that
Clinton would go mad; already his nerves were strained to the utmost.
Altogether I had never found myself in a worse plight.

It seemed like an eternity that we sat there, neither of us speaking a
word. Over and over again I repeated to myself the words of the terrible
curse: "And whoso entereth into the cell shall be the prisoner of the
soul that guardeth the door till it shall let him go." When would the
shapeless form that was inside the coffin let us go? Doubtless when our
bones were dry.

I looked at my watch. It was half-past eleven o'clock. Surely we had
been more than ten minutes in this awful place! We had left the house at
eleven, and I knew that must have been many hours ago. I glanced at the
second hand. _The watch had stopped._

"What is the time, Clinton?" I asked. "My watch has stopped."

"What does it matter?" he murmured. "What is time to us now? The sooner
we die the better."

He pulled out his watch as he spoke, and held it to the lantern.

"Twenty-five minutes past eleven," he murmured dreamily.

"Good heavens!" I cried, starting up. "Has your watch stopped, too?"

Then, like the leap of a lightning flash, an idea struck me.

"I have got it; I have got it! My God! I believe I have got it!" I
cried, seizing him by the arm.

"Got what?" he replied, staring wildly at me.

"Why, the secret--the curse--the door. Don't you see?"

I pulled out the large knife I always carry by a chain and swivel in my
trouser pocket, and telling Clinton to hold the lantern, opened the
little blade-saw and attacked the coffin with it.

"I believe the secret of our deliverance lies in this," I