Hobart had said this room was practically a prison, and it looked it--the walls bare, and unbroken, and a rough single cot.

All possibility of egress lay in the closed door, and a narrow window high up in the opposite wall, also tightly shut, and shaded by a heavy curtain.
His hand tried the door cautiously; the knob turned easily enough, but there was no yielding to his pressure.

The lock was evidently on the outside, and he could discover no key-hole, no possibility of operating it from within.

Then, besides in all probability, a guard would be posted outside in the hall, waiting for some signal from Hobart.

West glanced again at the recumbent figure, bending over to make sure of his condition, then, gripping a chair, silently crossed the room.
There was not a minute to lose.