Belcovitch began to mutter in an undertone that gradually became louder. His hand shook more and more. “Sure, Raymond?” said Jeffrey Ember. “Quite, quite sure?” He came up quite close, and laid his right hand lightly on her shoulder. It was the first time that he had touched her. She said just the one word, “Yes.” For a moment his hand closed hard upon her. Then he sprang back with a laugh. “All right, then we go up together.” And, as he spoke, he made for the corner where a little vulcanite knob showed above the steel safe. With a sort of howl Belcovitch whirled to meet him. They crashed together and grappled, Ember silent, Belcovitch torrential in imprecation and fighting as a man frenzied with terror does fight. His revolver dropped from his hand, and Ember stumbled over it. Like a flash Henry had Raymond by the arm, whilst his eyes commanded Jane and he pointed to the passage that led out of the laboratory on the extreme right. It was the one that Jane had explored first, and as she ran into it she remembered that it ended in a small chamber full of packing-cases. In a panting whisper she said: “It’s full of boxes.” “Then we must shift them,” said Henry, and, groping in the almost dark, he began to pull the cases away from the right-hand wall. “A light—he can’t find the spring without a light.” Raymond heard her own voice saying this, and then she ran back down the passage and into the laboratory. Belcovitch had put his torch down on the bench from which Jane had taken the lists. Its exact position was, as it were, photographed on Raymond’s consciousness. She reached, snatched it, and was back again in the least possible space of time. As she came, she saw Ember and Belcovitch swaying, struggling—horribly near the corner. And as she went she had an impression of Belcovitch falling and, as he fell, dragging Ember down with desperate, clawing hands. Then she was trying to steady her hand and throw the light upon the wall space which Henry had cleared; but the beam wavered and shook, shook and wavered; and Jane took the torch out of her hand, setting it on one of the packing-cases. “It should be here. It should be just here”—Henry spoke in a muttering whisper; then with sharp irritation, “Nearer with that light, Jane.” Jane held it closely to the wall. Henry’s hands slid up and down, feeling ... pressing. Once they heard Belcovitch shout, and all the time the sound of the struggle filled their straining ears. Some one fired a shot—and Henry found the spring. A slab of stone swung outwards, pivoting as the other doors had done.