To my surprise and relief the only thing to occur was the slow opening of the door inward, a dim gleam of light becoming visible through the widening crack.

The movement was deliberate and noiseless, but I dropped upon hands and knees in the deepest remaining shadow and peered anxiously into the dimly revealed interior.

It was a basement room, half the width of the kitchen overhead, I should judge; the walls of crude masonry, the floor of brick, the ceiling, festooned by cobwebs, of rough-hewn beams.

The light, flickering and dim, came from a half-burned candle in an iron holder screwed against the wall, revealing a small table, two chairs, one without a back, and four narrow sleeping berths made of rough boards.

This was all, except a coat dangling from a beam, and a small hand-hatchet lying on the floor.