Below lay not water, but a smooth surface of viscid slime, here luminous with the florescence of rottenness, there furrowed by a tiny runnel of moisture which sluggishly crept across it to the slow stream beyond.

This quicksand, vile and treacherous, lapped the wall below the window, and more than accounted for the absence of bars or fastenings.

But, leaning far out, he saw that it ended at the angle of the building, at a point twenty feet or so to the right of his position.
He sprang to the floor again, and listened an instant; then, with guarded movements--for there was fear in the air, fear in the silent room, and at any moment the rush might be made, the door burst in--he set the lanthorn and wine-pitcher on the floor, and took up the table in his arms.

He began to carry it to the window, but, halfway thither, his eye told him that it would not pass through the opening, and he set it down again and glided to the bed.

Again he was thwarted; the bed was screwed to the floor.