Under Cover

West grasped the idea clearly enough. Those fellows would be there swiftly. If they found him gone they would have no doubt but what he landed safely, and had made a get-away. They would search, of course, perhaps out into the alley, hoping he might have been injured, but it was hardly probable they would think to explore the cellar. Even if they did, he could surely creep into some dark corner where he might escape observation. Anyway, crippled as he was, this offered the one and only chance. He could not argue and debate; he must act.

He rolled over, and lowered himself down into the opening, locating the half-dozen broken and rotted steps with his feet. He made no attempt to stand, but simply slid down, finding a partially closed door at the bottom, the passage-way blocked by a litter, the exact nature of which could not be determined in the darkness. With some difficulty, and more than ever conscious of his weakness, and the pain of bruises, he managed to crawl over this pile of debris, and crouch down finally in the intense blackness within. He felt like a trapped rat, still gasping for breath, his body quivering from exertion.

Yet his retreat had been none too rapid. The silence above was broken by the creak of an opening door, the sound of excited voices, and a sudden gleam of light, finding entrance through the open cellar-way. West startled, crept back into a corner, every nerve alert at approaching peril. He recognized Hobart's voice, as the fellow plunged down the steps from the first floor out into the yard.