He felt in his pockets,
and fortunately discovered a box of matches. Aided by these, he
looked into the cavity, and saw nothing; nothing except a rather
large hole at the far end - some three feet from the casing. With
some difficulty he squeezed himself through the open panel, and
took a half-kneeling, half-sitting posture within. There he struck a
match, and it was a most unfortunate thing that in striking, the box
being half open, he set fire to all the matches, and was half
smothered in the atrocious stink of phosphorus which resulted.
One match burned clear on the floor of the cavity, and, rubbing his
eyes, Racksole picked it up, and looked down the hole which he
had previously descried. It was a hole apparently bottomless, and
about eighteen inches square. The curious part about the hole was
that a rope-ladder hung down it. When he saw that rope-ladder
Racksole smiled the smile of a happy man.
The match went out.
Should he make a long journey, perhaps to some distant corner of
the hotel, for a fresh box of matches, or should he attempt to
descend that rope-ladder in the dark? He decided on the latter
course, and he was the more strongly moved thereto as he could
now distinguish a faint, a very faint tinge of light at the bottom of
the hole.
With infinite care he compressed himself into the well-like hole,
and descended the latter. At length he arrived on firm ground,
perspiring, but quite safe and quite excited.
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