s full of
servants and, even if I passed the immediate door, I would be collared
in some passage. But I had myself so well in hand that I tackled the
door as if I had been prospecting to sink a new shaft in Rhodesia.

It had no handle nor, so far as I could see, a keyhole ... But I
noticed, as I turned my torch on the ground, that from the clamp which
I had shattered a brass rod sunk in the floor led to one of the
door-posts. Obviously the thing worked by a spring and was connected
with the mechanism of the rack.

A wild thought entered my mind and brought me to my feet. I pushed the
door and it swung slowly open. The bullet which freed me had released
the spring which controlled it.

Then for the first time, against all my maxims of discretion, I began
to hope. I took off my hat and felt my forehead burning, so that I
rested it for a moment on the cool wall ... Perhaps my luck still held.
With a rush came thoughts of Mary and Blenkiron and Peter and
everything we had laboured for, and I was mad to win.

I had no notion of the interior of the house or where lay the main door
to the outer world. My torch showed me a long passage with something
like a door at the far end, but I clicked it off, for I did not dare to
use it now. The place was deadly quiet. As I listened I seemed to hear
a door open far away, and then silence fell again.

I groped my way down the passage till I had my hands on the far door. I
hoped it might open on the hall, where I could escape by a window or a
balcony, for I judged the outer door would be locked. I listened, and
there came no sound from within. It was no use lingering, so very
stealthily I turned the handle and opened it a crack.

It creaked and I waited with beating heart on discovery, for inside I
saw the glow of light. But there was no movement, so it must be empty.
I poked my head in and then followed with my body.

It was a large room, with logs burning in a stove, and the floor thick
with rugs. It was lined with books, and on a table in the centre a
reading-lamp was burning. Several dispatch-boxes stood on the table,
and there was a little pile of papers. A man had been here a minute
before, for a half-smoked cigar was burning on the edge of the inkstand.

At that moment I recovered complete use of my wits and all my
self-possession. More, there returned to me some of the old
devil-may-careness which before had served me well. Ivery had gone, but
this was his sanctum. Just a