unmanned, seeing visions in the darkness, hearing imaginary sounds, my
thought leaped back to the girl upstairs. It was the one remembrance
which kept me sane. It was not the dead, but the living, I had to
fear, and it was not in my nature to shrink back from any man. I could
feel the courage returning, the leap of hot blood through my veins as I
straightened up.

I risked one more match to make certain of the opening through the
wall, dimly glimpsed beyond the berths. My eyes were not deceived;
here was a second wood-supported passage, unblocked so far as I could
perceive, but black as pitch. I held the flaming splinter aloft,
anxiously scanning the few feet thus revealed, but as it sputtered out,
the red ash dropping to the floor, I felt renewed confidence that I was
alone, unobserved. Whoever those assassins might be, they had
departed, leaving only the helpless dead behind. No doubt they would
come again to remove the bodies, to seek refuge in this hidden hole.
But for the moment I was there undiscovered, and must utilize each
precious instant for discoveries and escape. Wild recklessness, a
desire to break away from those grewsome surroundings, overcame all
caution. Swiftly as I dared in the dense blackness I crept forward,
feeling the smooth wall with eager fingers, my right hand still
nervously gripping the revolver butt. Then I came to the door, similar
to the other, although no groping about would reveal the catch, or
enable me to force it open.

Again I struck a match, guarding the infant flame with both hands
against a slight draught which threatened its extinction. There was no
sound, no warning of imminent danger. All my coolness had returned,
and my every thought centered on quickly discovering the lock of the
door. Yet, even in that instant, I caught glimpse of a shadow on the