..
Whilst this was his case, freedom had no joys for him.
No light guided him to the garage door, and he was forced to seek
for the handle by groping along the wall. Presently, his hand came in
contact with it, he turned it--and the way was open before him.
Being far from familiar with the geography of the place, he took out a
box of matches, and struck one to light him to the shelf above which the
bell-push was concealed.
Its feeble light revealed, not only the big limousine near which he
was standing and the usual fixtures of a garage, but, dimly penetrating
beyond into the black places, it also revealed something else....
The door in the false granite blocks was open!
Soames, who had advanced to seek the bell-push, stopped short. The match
burnt down almost to his fingers, whereupon he blew it out and carefully
crushed it under his foot. A faint reflected light rendered perceptible
the stone steps below. At the top, Soames stood looking down. Nothing
stirred above, below, or around him. What did it mean? Dimly to his ears
came the hooting of some siren from the river--evidently that of a large
vessel. Still he hesitated; why he did so, he scarce knew, save that he
was afraid--vaguely afraid.
Then, he asked himself what he had to fear, and conjuring up a mental
picture of his white bedroom below, he planted his foot firmly upon
the first step, and from thence, descended to the bottom, guided by the
faint light which shone out from the doorway beneath.
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