It was a cave, the walls of which on all sides were of dark-colored rock, rough and uneven, with moisture oozing out here and there. The ceiling was high, and from it was suspended by a wire the lamp, which cast a ghostly and uncertain glimmer about.
Going directly across the apartment, he came to an opening which branched off in the form of a long, narrow hall. This hall he traversed for some distance, and finally halted before an iron door, over which swung a small lamp.
He knocked. Receiving no answer, he knocked again, louder.
A volley of oaths greeted his ear, uttered in an angry tone.
Waiting until the storm had subsided, he said:
“Roake, let me in. It is I—Snags. Open the door.”
“What the duse is the matter?” uttered the voice, somewhat more mildly, but still with vexation in the tone.
“I’ll tell you when I’m alone with you.”
A rattling at the latch was now heard, and the iron door swung open heavily. It disclosed an apartment fifteen or twenty feet square, which, like the rooms through which Snags had already passed, was feebly illuminated.
On one side was a bed, and there were tables, chairs, a couch, and a cupboard, in different parts of the room. Everything bore an untidy, disorderly look.