"Well," he soliloquized, "if this is to be my quarters for the next five years—though I don't think it will be, as long as there is a strong man at the head of the Foreign Office—I may as well make myself comfortable. It's rotten being without Detroit though. They might have left us together. Now, let us see how the land lies."
His first step was to attempt to drag the iron bed frame across the floor and place it under the window.
"Confound it!" he muttered. "They've bolted the thing to the floor. No matter, I'll see what I can do with the stool."
Altering the position of that article of furniture to the desired spot, the Sub found that he could just grasp the bars of the window. Then, at the expense of a pair of skinned knees, he succeeded in drawing himself up sufficiently to be able to look out.
The aspect was not satisfactory. The outlook was to the paved courtyard, a high blank wall of a large building on the other side of the street, the upper part of the church tower, and an expanse of cloudy sky.
"Well, if I am condemned as a spy I jolly well will be one," he continued. "There's not much to be seen from the window, so the sooner I see about getting out the better."
With that he descended from his uncomfortable position and began to pace the narrow limits of his cell. Round and round he went, almost aimlessly. It reminded him of an incident of his youth. He had caught a hedgehog, and, wishing to keep it as a pet, had enclosed a small extent of grass-covered ground with a circular fence of wire netting. As soon as the hedgehog had uncoiled itself it began to run round and round the fence, its nose continually poking at the meshes in the hope of finding an exit. The animal eventually made its escape by burrowing. Good heavens! The thought suddenly occurred to him: why could he not burrow his way out of his prison?
He sounded the walls. They seemed solid enough. The floor, too, looked of far too massive construction to be disturbed without the aid of proper tools. It was paved with stones averaging two feet square, set in hard cement. Every flag he tapped with his heel. The result was not encouraging. No hollow sound rewarded his efforts.
"I'll tackle it somehow," he muttered.
His usually deliberate manner seemed to have deserted him on the first day of his imprisonment. He felt consumed by an almost overwhelming desire to exercise all his energy at once, only prudence asserted itself.