Nora took his arm.
"What are you doing here?" she whispered tensely. "Go before it's too late. I knew they suspected trouble to-night, but I never dreamed of your getting in here alone. Go—the way you came."
"To be caught in the yard?" he scoffed. "That fellow's given me away by this time. They'll watch that exit first."
He ran along the hallway. The strange brown light appeared to have given the air a substantial resistance. He breathed it with distaste. It choked him. At the foot of the stairs Nora caught his arm again.
"Where are you going?"
"Up there," he answered. "I haven't the ghost of a show in this suffocating basement. They'll look for me here first."
He climbed the stairs. She followed him.
"Jim," she breathed, "it's hopeless. They'll never let you out."
He turned at the head of the stairs. The same dim, unreal light was repugnant in his lungs here. A repellent odor, not to be classified, crept into his nostrils, made him want to cough. Heavy purple hangings were draped across two doorways.
"Tell me the lay-out," he whispered. "Quick! The yard isn't the only getaway?"