He examined the walls. Bars and braces made them easy to scale.
“He went up there,” Curlie told himself.
But had he? Doubts assailed him.
“Perhaps he did, and perhaps not,” he thought, calming a little. “At least it is the only way out, and I shall find myself out of this hateful place which has so nearly cost me my life.”
Gripping a bar, he began to climb. A lusty pull here, three steps up, a swing, a final struggle, and he lay for a moment on a cement floor.
“And now,” he thought, as he glanced about him, “where am I?”
Where indeed? All about him in the large room were packing cases. Some were small, some quite large. Many of them bore freight labels.
“Will mysteries never end?”
He passed out into a larger room. The place was quite dark, and that in spite of the fact that it must now be morning.
Approaching a narrow packing case that had been pried open, he threw the light of his electric torch into it. Then he started back in horror.