Escape seemed to grow every moment more hopeless; and now came the appalling thought that Old Death and the Doctor would soon have had sufficient time to repair from the house in Red Lion Street to that in Turnmill Street, and thus secure against him the avenue covered by the clock—even if it were not sufficiently secure already!
What was he to do?
Again and again he tried to force away the heavy clock: but there it stood, immoveable—and when he paused to reflect, its steady, monotonous ticking fell ominously upon his ears.
At length it struck him that he would retrace his way to the other extremity—force up the trap-door leading to Old Death's bed-chamber—and, with a pistol in each hand, dare every thing.
But what if that trap-door were secured on the other side?
No:—he remembered to have observed that there was not a bolt nor a bar to break the level of its upper surface as it fitted in flush with the floor.
Encouraged by the scintillation of hope that thus gleamed in upon him, Rainford hurried back to the other end of the subterranean—ascended the spiral staircase—grasped his pistols—and listened attentively.
All was still in the room above:—not the murmur of a voice—nor the creaking of a footstep!
He then slowly and carefully drew back the bolt of the trap-door, and tried to raise it.
But it moved not!