He had come directly into the bin.

Turning, he closed the window, for that would be a definite clue to any one who might pass down the alley.
As he stood surrounded by that hostile silence, that evil darkness, he grew somewhat accustomed to the dimness, and he could make out not definite objects, but ghostly outlines.

Presently he took out the small electric torch which he carried and examined his surroundings.
The bin had not yet received the supply of winter coal and was almost empty.

He stepped out of it into a part of the basement which had been used apparently for storing articles not worth keeping, but too good to be thrown away--an American habit of thrift.

Several decrepit chairs and rickety cabinets and old console tables were piled together in a tangled mass.