jammed in the corner of the
cross-bar, where it lit up the floor towards the door. Then it was
hell's own business extricating the pistol from my pocket. Wrist and
fingers were always cramping, and I was in terror that I might drop it
where I could not retrieve it.

I forced myself to think out calmly the question of the clamp, for a
pistol bullet is a small thing, and I could not afford to miss. I
reasoned it out from my knowledge of mechanics, and came to the
conclusion that the centre of gravity was a certain bright spot of
metal which I could just see under the cross-bars. It was bright and so
must have been recently repaired, and that was another reason for
thinking it important. The question was how to hit it, for I could not
get the pistol in line with my eye. Let anyone try that kind of
shooting, with a bent arm over a bar, when you are lying flat and
looking at the mark from under the bar, and he will understand its
difficulties. I had six shots in my revolver, and I must fire two or
three ranging shots in any case. I must not exhaust all my cartridges,
for I must have a bullet left for any servant who came to pry, and I
wanted one in reserve for myself. But I did not think shots would be
heard outside the room; the walls were too thick.

I held my wrist rigid above the cross-bar and fired. The bullet was an
inch to the right of the piece of bright steel. Moving a fraction I
fired again. I had grazed it on the left. With aching eyes glued on the
mark, I tried a third time. I saw something leap apart, and suddenly
the whole framework under which I lay fell loose and mobile ... I was
very cool and restored the pistol to my pocket and took the torch in my
hand before I moved ... Fortune had been kind, for I was free. I turned
on my face, humped my back, and without much trouble crawled out from
under the contraption.

I did not allow myself to think of ultimate escape, for that would only
flurry me, and one step at a time was enough. I remember that I dusted
my clothes, and found that the cut in the back of my head had stopped
bleeding. I retrieved my hat, which had rolled into a corner when I
fell ... Then I turned my attention to the next step.

The tunnel was impossible, and the only way was the door. If I had
stopped to think I would have known that the chances against getting
out of such a house were a thousand to one. The pistol shots had been
muffled by the cavernous walls, but the place, as I knew, wa