d--upward--upward, seemingly
without end. I was seeking blindly for that particular room which was to
be my destination. Room 4167, with its high number, could hardly be on
the lower floors, and so I had stumbled upward....

* * * * *

It was at the entrance of the second floor corridor that I struck the
first of my desultory supply of matches, and by its light discovered a
placard nailed to the wall. The thing was yellow with age and hardly
legible. In the drab light of the match I had difficulty in reading
it--but, as far as I can remember, the notice went something like this:

WAREHOUSE RULES

1. No light shall be permitted in any room or corridor, as a
prevention against fire.

2. No person shall be admitted to rooms or corridors unless
accompanied by an employee.

3. A watchman shall be on the premises from 7 P.M. until 6 A.M.
He shall make the round of the corridors every hour during that
interval, at a quarter past the hour.

4. Rooms are located by their numbers: the first figure in the
room number indicating its floor location.

I could read no further. The match in my fingers burned to a black
thread and dropped. Then, with the burnt stump still in my hand, I
groped through the darkness to the bottom of the second ramp.

Room 4167, then, was on the fourth floor--the topmost floor of the
structure. I must confess that the knowledge did not bring any renewed
burst of courage! The top floor! Three black stair-pits would lie
between me and the safety of escape. There would be no escape! No human
being in the throes of fear could hope to discover that tortured outlet,
could hope to grope his way through Stygian gloom down a triple ramp of
black stairs. And even though he succeeded in reaching the lower
corridors, there was still a blind alley-way, sealed at the outer end by
a high grating of iron bars....

* * * * *

Escape! The mockery of it caused me to stop suddenly in my ascent and
stand rigid, my whole body trembling violently.

But outside, in the gloom of the street, M. S. was waiting, waiting with
that fiendish glare of triumph that would brand me a man without
courage. I could not return to face him, not though all the horrors of
hell inhabited this gruesome place of mystery. And horrors must surely
inhabit it, else how could one account for that fearful thing on the
grating below? But I had