"Your money? The five you gave me'll keep me a week, and after that
I'll come for more."
With that the voice died away, and Ajax muttered: "It looks to me as
if this were a case of putting up the shutters."
We had forgotten all about The Babe, which is not surprising under the
circumstances.
"Putting _up_ the shutters? Pulling them down, you mean! there
must be a window of sorts in this room."
But after careful search we came to the conclusion that we were
directly under the road-bed, and that the only opening of any kind was
the door through which we had passed. I thought of that door and the
face of the man behind it. For what purpose save robbery and murder
was such a room designed? I could not confront the certainty of
violence with a jest, as Ajax did, but I was of his opinion otherwise
expressed: we had been trapped like rats in a blind drain, and would
be knocked on the head--presently.
The uncertainty began to gnaw at our vitals. We did not speak, for
darkness is the twin of silence, but our thoughts ran riot. I remember
that I almost screamed when Ajax laid his hand on my shoulder, and yet
I knew that he was standing by my side.
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