, and there were none of the hooks and shelves which would
make it complete for its purpose. The only appliance was the thermometer,
the coils of which were fitted in flush with the tiling, near the door,
and protected by a close metal grating. As for the door itself, its
outline was a fine seam. There was a handle.

As the match burned close to his fingers, Orme pulled out his watch. It
was twenty-nine minutes past five.

Darkness again.

Orme groped his way to the door and tugged at the handle. The door would
not open; built with air-tight nicety, it did not budge in the least.

This was as Orme had expected. He knew that Alcatrante would have shot
the bolt. He knew, too, that Alcatrante would be waiting in the corridor,
to assure himself that the last clerk left the office without freeing the
prisoner--that all the lights were out and the office locked for the
night. Then he would depart, exulting that the papers could not be
delivered; and in the morning Orme would be released.

But had Alcatrante realized that the chamber was air-tight? Surely he had
not known that the girl was already there. The air that might barely
suffice to keep one alive until relief came would not suffice for two.

There was not the least opening to admit of ventilation. Even the places
where, in a practical refrigerator, connection would be made with the
ice-chamber, were blocked up; for that matter, they were on that side of
the chamber which was built close into the corner of the office.

Orme drove his heel against the wall. The tiles did not break. Then he
stepped back toward the middle of the chamber.

"Where are you, Girl?" he asked.

"Here," she answered, very near him.

He reached out and found her hand, and she did not withdraw it from his
clasp.

"The rascal has locked us in," he said. "I'm afraid we shall have a long
wait."

"Will it do any good to shout?"

"No one could hear us through these walls. No, there's nothing to do but
remain quiet. But you needn't stand, Girl."

He led her to the wall. Removing his coat, he folded it and placed it on
the floor for a cushion, and she seated herself upon it. He remained
standing near by.

"The papers," he said, "are in that coat you are sitting on."

He laughed, with a consciousness of the grim and terrible humor of their
situation--which he hoped she had not yet realized. Here they were, the
hard-sought papers in their possession, yet they were helpless even to
save