He was a prisoner in the cell!
The American leaned back against the wall, where he stood panting for breath and clutching his weapon, staring about him wildly and striving to pierce the darkness. The effort was vain, however, and the absolute silence that prevailed afforded him not the slightest clue as to what was going on.
He realized with a sinking heart what an advantage he had lost by failing to take possession of the large room where he had a light. But even as he was, with his revolver in his hand, he concluded, after a few swift thoughts, that his case was not entirely hopeless.
“They will have to open the door some time,” he gasped, “and they may not know that I have got a revolver.”
There was, however, the fearful possibility that his mysterious captor might see fit to starve him out. The American realized that he would be absolutely helpless before that.
“But there is a window,” he thought; “perhaps I can shout and attract attention.”
Prompted by that thought, he felt his way along the wall until he reached the opening in question. He raised himself up and peered between the bars; but it was only to make one more discovery. The window was closed by an iron shutter or drop, which resisted all his efforts to move it.
“And I am in here without a breath of air!” he thought.
The whispered words had scarcely passed his lips before the last climax of his mysterious experiences arrived. Suddenly a strange smell attracted his attention, and as he discovered the cause he gave a gasp of despair.
The room was slowly filling with a gas!