"What is it?" the woman was asking, over and over. The Mexican was driven to the edge of the room. The place beyond seemed to be much larger than their prison. He waved his hands despairingly. "Now, quick, you have only a _momentito_ to save me! Don't _stand_ there!" The stick touched him and he jumped as if he had been shocked. The wall began to slide into place again. "Let's rush it," said the man with the briefcase suddenly. "Why?" asked Summersby. The wall closed and they were alone, staring at one another. * * * * * "There wasn't anything we could do," the Negro said. "It happened too quick. But if it comes in again we better fight it." He looked around, plainly expecting to be contradicted. "We can't get split up like this." "Possibly one of us can suggest something," said the husband. He was a sober-looking man of about twenty-eight or thirty, with a face veneered by stubborn patience. "We should make a real try at escape." "We know where the door is, at least," said the blond man. He went to the sliding wall and threw his weight obliquely against it. "Give me a hand here, will you, big fellow?" "You won't move it that way," said Summersby. He sat down on the automobile tire, which seemed to have been chewed on by some large animal. "It's probably electrically operated." "We can try, can't we?" Summersby did not answer. In one corner, six feet off the floor, was a thing he had not noticed before, a network of silver strands like an enormous spider's web or a cat's cradle. He stared at it, but after the first moment he did not actually see it. He was thinking of the forest, and wishing dully that he might have died there. The woman spoke sharply, intruding on his detachment; he hoped someone would sit on her. "Will you please _do_ something, Calvin! We must get out of this place." "Where are we, anyway?" asked the Negro boy, who looked about nineteen, a tall, well-built youth with beautiful hands. "How'd they get us here? And what was that thing that took the Mex?" "It doesn't matter where we are," snapped the woman. "Yes, it does, ma'am," said the youth. "We got to know how they brought us here before we can escape." "The hell we do," said the blond man. "We can't guess our location until we get out. I think you're right about the door," he told Summersby. "There isn't any lock to it you could reach from inside. The mechanism for sliding and locking must be inside the wall itself. Nothing short of a torch will get through to it." He came over to Summersby. "We'll have to gimmick it next time it opens." "With what?" asked the woman's husband. "Something small, so it won't be noticed." "Your briefcase?" suggested the husband, who had a hard New England twang. "No, chum," said the blond man, "not my briefcase." "Hey, look," said the Negro. "What happened, anyway? I remember the coaster hitting the dip and then nothing, no wind or motion, until I woke up here. And it's two days later."