All at once his right hand came upon an obstacle immediately in front of him. It was either the blind end of the tunnel or a door. His heart sank as the thought crossed his mind that the tunnel, so long in disuse, might have been bricked up. But moving his hand over the obstructing surface he felt that it was of wood, and in a moment he touched something cold that projected an inch or two towards him. He pressed it gently, pushed it, tried to lift it, then bore down upon it; it yielded suddenly, and from the other side came the unmistakable click of a latch. He held his breath, waiting motionless for more than a minute, fearful lest the sound should have been heard by someone on the other side. All was still as death. Keeping the latch depressed, he pushed the door gently, then more firmly. There was no yielding. Again his heart sank; was the door bolted on the inside? Had he come thus far only to be baulked at last? But doors might open outwards as well as inwards. He pulled gently at the catch, and stopped with a start, for he heard the dreaded creak of a hinge. The door had begun to open towards him; through the inch-wide opening a draught of cold air played upon his face. Had the creak been heard? He waited, listening. The silence was still unbroken. Then he began to pull the door towards him by almost infinitesimal degrees, and with every least movement there was a faint creak that sent a thrill through him. Yet it was better to risk many slight and interrupted sounds than one loud and prolonged; and he continued, lessening the strain on the hinges by giving an upward pressure upon the catch.