After swaying for a second, the heavy railing plunged forward and fell with a sound almost like thunder down the whole height of the building, bumping from stage to stage in the most hideous manner.
I was saved; but what next!
For a time I lay and listened, as little pieces of plaster rolled down the stairs and the rats scuttled restlessly about. Then, half-dazed, I felt for the matches, which, happily, were safe in my pocket.
By the dim light given by one of these it was easy to see my horrible position, perched on the edge of the landing, some part of my long ulster actually hanging over the side.
Below, all was dark.
A dense cloud seemed rising between my eyes and the match slowly burning itself out.
The choking sensation told me that it was a cloud of dust raised by the fall of so much plaster.
After waiting for a short time, scarcely daring to breathe, I struck another match, and again looked around.
The cloud had disappeared, but my clothes were whitened, indicating where its particles had settled.
Then the match burnt my fingers, and as it dropped down into the Stygian darkness I could descry its course till it became merely a faint red speck in that great depth.