Aymer did as he was told. Fulk’s head receded. “It is difficult for me to keep long in that position,” he said; “I am not tall enough. But we can talk just as well.” “How came that hole in the wall?” asked Aymer. “How came your book published?” said Fulk. “By the same process—patience and perseverance. No credit to me though. When a man is confined for two years in one room, he is glad enough of something to do.” “Why did you make such a hole—how did you do it? It was very clever.” “It was very easy. The poker did a part, the steel to sharpen the dinner knife did another part!” “But were they not afraid to leave such instruments in your room?” “Not they. Theodore knows very well that I am not mad. He knows that I have too much mind to attempt suicide. As to the warders, they are strong, their clothes are impenetrable to an ordinary stab. Besides, I feign to be harmless, and at last worn out.” “There is no poker in my room,” said Aymer, “and they have taken the knives away.” “That is because, as yet, they do not know your temperament. They think they know mine. So far as conveniences, and even luxuries, are concerned, certainly Theodore does not treat me amiss. I have everything I could have if I were free—papers, books—everything but tools or liberty—but I can improvise tools.” “How is it they do not discover this hole in the wall?” “Simply because on your side it is hidden by the picture, and behind the picture I have preserved the papering. On my side, it is hidden by a mirror; when I open the aperture, I unscrew the mirror.” “But how did you know there was a picture on this side?” “A person who was confined as you are told me.” “Was he sane then? What became of him?” “Don’t ask me. He was sane. It was a terrible disappointment when he went.” “But did he not return to get you out?” “You do not comprehend. He lies in the grave. It is my belief—but I should alarm you.” “They killed him?” “Well, not so violent as that. He died—that is it—before our arrangements were complete.” “Then you have tried to escape with others?” “Yes, three times, and three times accident has baulked it. For that reason I wish you to get strong speedily, lest you should be removed to another room—” “Or the grave!” “Let us talk on other subjects. You do not ask how the hole was made, nor why. I will tell you. In the first place, it was made because I had hopes of escaping through your room, which was then unoccupied, and the door left open. That was vain, for it was afterwards occupied; then the hole was enlarged to let me and one of your predecessors converse, and to let him get into my room, as you will have to do.” “Why?” “Because your window is a French one; mine has a bar or upright up the centre, which is an essential element of escape.” “Go on—how did you make the hole?” “With the steel and with the poker—grinding the bricks into dust, and mingling the dust with the ashes of the fire, so that the warder himself carried them away.”