An idea came to him, and he slapped at the pocket of his shirt. His palm struck the outline of something. Matches!
He lit one, and raised it to the level of his wide, frightened eyes. He was facing a door, a barricade of steel, without sign of latch or doorknob. But there was a sign, and he read it in the flicker of the matchflame. It said:
PUSH
He made a noise in his throat, and shoved against the door. It gave in to his weight, and he was outside the building, standing in a courtyard washed softly by moonlight.
He circled where he stood, and knew he was a prisoner still. A wire fence, four times his height, surrounded him.
He came closer to it, and plunged his fingers through the mesh, rattling it helplessly in his misery. Then he saw the second sign, and held his breath. It read:
YOU CAN DO IT
Encouraged, he began his climb. The toes of his rubber-soled shoes fit neatly into the openings, and he gained the summit of the fence quickly. He swayed uncertainly at the top, and almost dropped the twenty-five feet to the other side. But he regained his balance, clambered down the mesh, and dropped panting to the ground.
A voice boomed at him.
"All right, let's go! We haven't got all night!"