Opening a cupboard which the darkness had caused me to overlook on my previous entrance, I saw that the top shelf was full of bottles, jars, and tins, all containing what I took to be chemicals. On the bottom shelf was something like a crucible, and beside it lay half a dozen metal things shaped like neckless bottles, and reminding me a little of artillery slugs. What did it all mean? Was I in a coiners' den--an illicit distillery--an infernal machine factory? Ha! I must be off! Already someone was making frantic but systematic efforts to prise open the door. One more hurried glance around. Who knew but that I might light upon something in the nature of a clue to the mystery? No; that was all. Except for the things of which I have spoken, the place was absolutely empty. Stop a moment. What was that lying curled up in a corner? A cat--a dog? No; it was a fur cap. Bang! They were trying to break open the door. The next instant I was at the window. Screwed up, was it? No matter. Snatching up the fur cap and twisting it around my fist that it might serve as a sort of buffer or boxing-glove, and so protect my hand from broken glass, I knocked out enough of the framework, and of the glass, to allow me to scramble through, with no more serious hurt than a few scratches and some rents in my clothing. Within the next ten seconds I was across the yard, and, by the aid of an empty box, had scaled the wall, and was over on the waste land. Here I stopped for an instant to take my bearings, for at that moment the inconsiderate moon broke out from behind the clouds, and with such brightness that I could scarcely hope to escape being seen, and so would have been an easy target for a passable marksman. The piece of waste land was enclosed on my right and on my left by corrugated zinc fences. I could easily have climbed them, but the scuffling and scraping of my feet and body against the metal would have advertised my whereabouts to the enemy; and by this time I knew that the two men, Smudgy and Parker, whom their leader had sent to cut off my retreat, must be close at hand. Selecting the fence which cast the darker shadow, I made straight for it, and then turning off at right angles, I scuttled along half crouching, and keeping as close to cover as a mouse keeps to the wainscot when hieing him to his hole. I was now going--and purposely--in the direction of the river, where the fencing was of wood, not of metal, and so might be scaled less noiselessly. Moreover, two or three stunted trees threw ragged shadows across the moonlight in that quarter, and so might serve to screen me from my pursuers. Just as I reached these trees I heard voices on the other side, so I dropped like a dead thing in the shadow at the foot of the fence, and lay listening.