"Damn it," protested Martin, whose guilty conscience troubled him, "how could I have known you were down there?"
"You couldn't have. It was my own — call it what you like. I did find my voice, and start to call after you. You heard that?"
"Faintly. When I was on my way out"
"So I knew myself in a trap for heaven knew how long. I was there with what remained of Enid Puckston, and the other things. The only possibility was to break down the door I spoke of, the door at the front of the shaft
"Inspector, have you ever tried this? On many, many occasions in fiction I have read, Twice he hurled himself at the door, and on the third attempt the lock splintered.' Well, try it. If this had been a proper prison door, I shouldn't have had a chance. But it wasn't’
"It became an endless series of kicks with a heavy country boot Once or twice I stumbled over — Enid Puckston. I think it took half an hour. The last frantic kick, which wrenched my ankle and made me think I was done, tore the lock out of the door.
"I had my pocket-lighter, which I had not used except for a cigar or two. In front of me was a short brick passage running straight Can you guess what it was?"
Masters, who long ago had swung his chair round again, spoke in an expressionless voice.
"No need to guess, sir. I know what it was."
"Oh?"