I sat still, watching the beam of his torch growing smaller and smaller as he walked down the long tunnel. And as the light grew fainter, the darkness around me came down with a choking thickness that brought me out into a cold sweat. I snapped on the torch. The white light sent the heavy, solid blackness back, almost as if it was alive. But it crouched just beyond the beam, waiting to pounce on me again.

My first move was to examine the chain locked around my middle. It was too strong to snap, and the padlock was solid and heavy. I traced the chain to the wall. It was fastened to a staple, embedded in solid rock. I caught hold of the chain in both hands, braced one foot against the wall and strained backwards. Nothing happened. I braced myself again and pulled until my sinews creaked. I might just as well have tried to pull over the Empire State Building.

I flopped back on the rock floor, panting, my heart going like a steam-hammer. If I was to get out of here, somehow or other, I had to work the staple loose. No one would ever think of looking for me here. Paula would go to the apartment house on Jefferson Avenue. She might find Maxie. But that wouldn’t get her very far, or me either. She’d go to Mifflin. But what could Mifflin do? Why should anyone look for me in the shaft of a disused, ruined mine?

I was getting into a panic now. It was like being buried alive. My eyes kept going to the heap of tattered clothes lying about ten yards from me: all that remained of Ferris.

There s some kind of animal down here.

All right, I admit it. I was ready to run whimpering into a corner if I could have run. I was ready to yell for help at the top of my voice if it would have done any good. I’ve had the shakes more than once in my life, but nothing like the shakes I was getting now.

For about a minute I sat as still as death, getting hold of myself, telling myself not to dive off the deep end, calling myself every insulting name I could think of, while I fought off the panic that sat on my shoulder and leered into my face. I fought it off, but it left me sweating and cold and as limp as a length of boiled string.

I got out my cigarettes, split half of them before I could get my ringers round one of them. I got it alight, and lay back against the wall, drawing in smoke, and blowing it out again while I stared at the white light of the torch that stood between me and the darkness.

I had no idea how long I was going to be down here. The battery wouldn’t last much longer than a couple of hours of continuous burning. I’d have to conserve it, even if it did mean sitting in the dark.

I counted my cigarettes. I had seventeen. Even that little red spark could be comforting, and while I smoked the torch would have to go out.