upright in the fireplace on the floor above, and looking up to where I could perceive the light of the sky. It was constructed of irregular bits of stone, which would afford lodgment for the feet, and grip for the hands, in climbing—no easy job, of course, but not impossible for one reckless enough to make the attempt. But how could I hope to pry loose that protecting sheet of iron? Where could I discover a tool to give me the necessary leverage to dislodge those bolts? Could one of those supports be unscrewed or twisted off? If so it might prove strong enough for the purpose. I stepped hastily across, and tested two of them with my hands, but found both these firm and immovable. I dare not exercise much force in fear the noise might be overheard, and besides it was time the jailer brought me in some food. So I went back to my seat on the box, and waited, my eyes on the iron, and my mind eagerly working on some plan which seemed feasible. I had a half dozen keys in my pocket, and a broken cartridge shell in my belt—nothing else available. The searchers had stripped me clean. A careful survey of the floor revealed only a twisted nail, but there was something caught in the iron bars of the window; from where I sat it looked like the half of a broken horseshoe. I got up to see, but quickly sat down again—there was someone at the door.
