The vast empty space, they learned by cautious questioning, had originally been intended as a supply room; it was found, however, that it was not needed for this purpose and therefore it had been left in its present unoccupied condition.
There seemed not an iota of possibility that the place would ever be used and Peter and Nat exulted in the fact that they might lunch there undisturbed for the rest of their days if they so desired. For weeks they spent every noon hour in the sunshine behind their barricade talking softly together, eating their luncheon, and sometimes reading aloud.
Then came calamity.
It was on a sharp April day when the shelter of their sunny corner was especially welcome. Peter had just been rolling out one of the most stirring chapters of “Ivanhoe” when suddenly he paused, listening intently.
“It’s the elevator!” he whispered. “It is stopping at this floor. Somebody is getting out, Nat.”
“Who can it be?”
“Hush!”
The two boys kept very still.
Steps and voices came nearer.
“Yes, every floor is protected by fire-escapes, as you see,” declared a voice.