That help would come to him seemed equally improbable. Nick knew that Flood would not visit his house and that Belle Braddon would insure that no person entered the one adjoining. That any accidental intruder would put in an appearance was next to absurd.
Nick quickly dropped all hope of relief of that character; in fact, nearly as quickly as he had dropped the other.
This left him but one resource—himself.
“I’m in here, and I must get out,” he grimly said to himself. “I was fool enough to be caught in the trap, but I’ll try to be clever enough to get out of it. First of all, to investigate it, for which we’ll have a little light.”
Nick never went without the ordinary requirements of his vocation, and he quickly fished out of his pocket a small electric lamp, the current of which he turned on, and immediately a flood of light dispelled the intense darkness of his narrow quarters.
“There, that is more like it,” he muttered. “Now to look about a bit.”
A careful examination of the place required but a little time.
On two sides were the bare brick walls of the passage, reaching from the floor to the ceiling.
At each end was the inner surface of a heavy iron door, which was as tightly closed as that of a steel safe. Under all the pressure Nick possibly could bring to bear upon them they were not even jarred.
“Um! There’s no opening them by force, that’s sure!” he presently decided. “Sheet-iron, too, over stout wood, no doubt, and securely riveted. To break through them is also out of the question.