There was around him a death-like stillness, and he realized that the buried cavern was far from the bottom of the shaft. Then he suddenly wondered where the air came from. There must be an inlet somewhere, he thought, for the air he was breathing, although stuffy, was quite pure. He walked round the walled up chamber—round and round—but there was nowhere a weak spot. He sat down and tried to think coherently, and laughed aloud in his agony, as he wondered whether he would go mad. He looked up suddenly, and in his weakness imagined that the roof was trying to dance with the floor. He tottered round the place, hardly able to keep his feet in his wild fancy that the floor was moving, and laughed hysterically as he knocked against a jutting piece of coal, and thought the roof had got him at last. Then he quieted a little, and in the semi-darkness the dead figure of Daniels seemed to rise from the place where it lay, and point at him a menacing finger. In terror, Alan backed to the further side of the little chamber, his eyes distorted, his limbs trembling. He watched the figure come nearer—nearer—its long claw-like fingers were almost on his flesh—“Ah!” he shrieked—the fingers were touching him with a cold, slimy touch. He felt impelled to move forward—with the forefinger of the dead man pressed to his forehead. He walked fearfully onward—then his overwrought brain gave way entirely, and with another wild shriek, he fell to the floor in merciful unconsciousness. When he recovered, his dimmed senses hid from him much of the past. His fever had abated, but he longed for water. His mouth was parched. He crawled feebly to the basket where the dead Daniels had kept his food, and drew out the bottle of tea. There was very little left, but enough to take away the first keen edge of his thirst. A torn newspaper that had been used to wrap up some of the food rustled slightly. It startled him and he looked round nervously. Again it moved, and seemed to be lifted up by some unseen hand. He watched it fascinated, then suddenly his face lighted up. “A draught,” he cried triumphantly. “Then it is from that direction I must try and secure my release!” With renewed energy he began to pick at the coal, in the fast dimming light of his lantern. Tirelessly he worked, until success met his efforts and he had made a hole big enough to crawl through, whence came the sound of rushing waters. He lifted his lantern above his head in his endeavour to discover where he was, and its feeble rays shone upon a swiftly flowing, subterranean river that disappeared through a tunnel on either side. The place he was in was very small and had no outlet except by way of the water.