e, in place. This done, he
replaced it, not at his hip, but loose and free, in the righthand
pocket of his coat. Then he once more began feeling his way along the
smooth cement floor. He was enveloped in a darkness as absolute as
though he had been shrouded in black velvet--even the glimmer of the
refracted street lamps did not penetrate further than the doorway of
the first tunnel. There was a smell of dampness in the air, as of
mouldy plaster. It was the smell of underground places. Durkin hated
it.

He had to feel his way about the entire circle of that second narrow
chamber before he came to where the inner doorway stood. It, too, was
unlocked, and for the first time some sense of betrayal, some
intimidation of being trapped, some latent suspicion of artfully
concealed duplicity, flashed through his questioning mind.

He listened, and was greeted by nothing but silence.

Then he swung the door softly and slowly open. As he did so he leaped
back, and to one side, with his right hand in his coat pocket. For
there suddenly smote on his ears the sharp clang and tinkle of metal.

He stood there, crouched, for a waiting minute, and then he laughed
aloud, for he knew it was only the sound of some piece of falling iron,
striking on the cement. To make sure of it, he groped about the floor,
and stumbled on the little bar of steel that had fallen. Yet why it
had been there, leaning against the door, he could not comprehend. Was
it there by accident? Or had it been meant as a signal? It showed him
one thing, however; its echoing fall had demonstrated to him that the
room he had entered was both higher and larger than the one he had
left. It might be nothing more than a furnace-room, yet he told
himself that he must be on his guard, that from now on his perils began.

Then he wondered why he should feel this premonitory sense, and in what
lay the dividing line, and where lay the difference.

Yet as he stood there, with his back against the wall, he felt
something dormant and deep-seated stirring within him. It was not a
sense of danger; it arose from no outward and tangible manifestations.
But somewhere, and persistently, at the root of his being, he heard
that subliminal and submerged voice which could be neither silenced nor
understood.

He took three groping paces forward, as if to put distance between
himself and this foundationless emotion which some part of him seemed
struggling to defy. But for t