"I can't stand much of this," he reflected, and then held his breath closely.
Ralph had to grope with hands and feet. He lined one side wall of the apartment, ran to the window for a supply of fresh air, and resumed his difficult quest.
"No luck so far," he panted. "The room seems entirely empty. There is not even a carpet on the floor."
Suddenly, a cracking sound and then a slight crash warned him to look out for danger.
A door leading into the front attic just then burned free of its hinges. It fell inside the apartment Ralph was in.
Its vivid blazing lit up the room somewhat.
"I see it--the trunk!" said Ralph, and sprang to a corner where a box-like outline showed.
Again the old woman's statements were at fault. The trunk was perfectly easy of access, and Ralph did not have to use the hatchet at all.
Ropes that at one time possibly enclosed the trunk lay at one side, cut in two. The broken lock of the trunk lay on the floor. Ralph threw up the cover.
Inside was a mass of cotton batting. He threw this out on the floor. Then some old newspapers followed. Beneath these lay a little flat tin box.