“Yes. For how long, I don’t know. I found myself lying here with you. Then a woman came in, gave me something to drink. She said you’d be all right--that the stronger person always suffered most from the light. I imagine she’ll be back--” I got on my feet. “We’ll have to get out of here.” He acquiesced in that. But quite evidently he had already examined our cell--it was no less than that; and he seemed not very hopeful. We were in a stone room some twenty feet square. The rough stone walls had a gleaming black metallic look to them; the floor was smooth burnished metal. The low, flat ceiling barely cleared my head by an inch; it was gray, smooth as polished steel. There was the couch; a metal table, shaped like a huge cup; and a metal chair. Arturo followed me about the room. “Not much chance, Jeff. I’ve been trying to plan something, but I haven’t yet decided.” There were two small orifices in the ceiling. From one came the faint purple glow of light; its tiny shade was pushed aside; it spread downward like an electrolier and cast a six-foot circle on the floor. The other hole seemed to be admitting a current of fresh air. The room was queerly dank; beads of moisture were sweating on the ceiling. There was a small door, convex like the round door to a bank vault. It had a pane the size of my face; I stood and peered through it--a substance as transparent as glassite, brittle evidently, and solid as ancient glass. It seemed fully two feet thick, like a bull’s-eye. Beyond it there was the dim vision of a vaulted metal corridor. The opposite wall, up against the ceiling, held a similar small pane like a window. It was level with my eyes; I could see a barred grating beyond the bull’s-eye; and outside that, not the garden as I had hoped, but seemingly another corridor. “No good, Jeff. There’s no chance,” Arturo said. * * * * * I fancied we might wrench a piece of metal from this bed, or table. The walls were of stone; they crumbled a trifle as I scratched at them with my nails. They might not be very thick--if we could dig our way out-- “And find ourselves--where?” Arturo objected. “That isn’t an outer wall. I tell you there’s no use trying. Give me time; I’m planning something.” “I know it isn’t an outer wall. This woman who brought you the drink--did she come alone?” “Yes. But there were voices just outside the door.” “If we could leap on her--make a run for it--” “With others in the corridor?” “There might not be, next time she comes. Is she armed?” “I don’t know. I guess so.” Nor did he know the inner lay-out of the castle, or whether we were at its top, or bottom. He thought there were two floors. “I’ve never been in here before. Tad has, before I came--before we got this revolution under way. She knows about that, Jeff; it’s open hostility now. God, we’re prisoners here--she’ll be coming down to see us. What she’ll do to us eventually! That woman, Jeff--” He shuddered. “You don’t know--”