She passed her hand wildly up and down, too mad with fear to count;
every brick, to right, to left, and as far as she could reach above,
below, had the jutting piece of mortar; the wall was as high as the
heavens; the third row was here, beneath her hand--no! high above her
head--no! one, two, yes, here--her fingers touched it--it was gone.

It takes a long time to write or read in inky words, but it was really
only a few seconds before the door swung open.

She gave a scream of terrible relief and rushed into the blackness and
as she rushed a dog leapt straight at her shoulders.

She screamed again and swung-to the door with all her strength; it shut
upon the dog, breaking its back; it remained ajar to her pursuers.

There still was hope. She knew the way; they did not. Could she but
get to her bedroom behind the massive doors, could she but reach the
telephone, the instrument she had regarded as her finest toy, she would
soon have the police running to the rescue. She fled down the narrow
passage which led to a jumble of small rooms; she even paused for a
moment to listen to the cursing of those who ran behind her, stumbling
in the narrow way.

She fled through the farthest door; she was free; there but remained
the shallow flight of marble stairs to the suite wherein her bedroom
lay.

Then she stopped, and, shrieking, flung out her arms.