On the plate lay some tinned meat and some bread! The water jug had been refilled! Whoever was his janitor was determined to keep him alive.
With an effort he raised himself, but so weak was he that only by clutching at the wall did he succeed in reaching the jug, from which he drank deeply.
Then he crawled around his stone prison with difficulty. He was hungry and ate some of the meat and bread.
Afterwards he sat upon the sacks, weak, weary and with wandering brain, trying to locate his exact position.
Suddenly, from outside, he heard voices—rough voices in the silence.
“Yes. Rotten! I call it! But I’m in for higher wages, and that’s a fact! Tom’s wages were rose this week,” were the words that broke in upon his ear.
He raised himself and crawled to the little window, but, despite his struggles, could not reach it. It was far too high. He longed to look out upon the world and ascertain where he was. But that was impossible, and in his weak state he sank back again into unconsciousness.
How long he remained he knew not.
When he awoke, however, he found himself still beneath the little window. The plate and jug were there, just as he had left them.
The rough voices of workers outside had passed in mystery. He ate the remaining portions of the food which was grudgingly given him by an unknown hand, drank some water, and then crossed to his raincoat. In its pocket his cigar-box wireless receiving-set still remained.