I scrambled hurriedly to my feet and crossed over to the corner where the rat had disappeared. Sure enough, there, between two blocks of stone that did not fit very well, was a hole about the size of a Jaffa orange. I went down on my hands and knees and thrust my torch into it. But I could see nothing. Beyond the stone blocks the hole seemed to widen out. But I could smell. Faintly came a warm fetid stench — the stench of a sewer.
I was really excited now. Perhaps this was more than a rat hole? Perhaps behind the solid-seeming wall was a passage-way leading to the sewers? As I rose to my feet, I brushed against one of the rusty chains and it clinked against the stone. The sight of that chain stirred a chord in my memory. And then suddenly I could have cried aloud in my excitement. For I had remembered that to the right of the entrance door of Marburgs was one of the little blue plaques put up by the City Corporation. I had forgotten the details, but I did remember that it informed a forgetful world that here, on this site, many years ago, stood a prison. And this was one of the old cells. To these chains prisoners had once been fettered. And these deep cells had remained behind the façade of civilisation that Marburgs had raised between Old Broad Street and Threadneedle Street. What more likely than that there had been a passage from the old prison to the ancient sewers of the city? Perhaps it had been used as a convenient method of getting rid of men who had died here? Perhaps it had been a secret means of communication between the prison and the river? I played my torch on the stonework, rubbing away the dirt and feeling the cold blocks with the tips of my fingers. And it seemed to me that the stones here were less rough, as though they had been built in later. I became convinced of this when I noticed that the blocks were shorter on one side, as though they had been specially cut to fit into the space that had originally been the entrance to a passage. The edges, too, were rougher.
I glanced at my watch. It was nearly midnight. Sedel would not arrive before eight at the very earliest. That gave me eight hours. But I knew it was a long job I had before me and I set to work feverishly. My only implement was the knife with which I had eaten my meal. God! how I blessed that knife! I could almost forgive Sedel his fiendish trick of supplying me salt ham and nothing to drink.
I started on the block of stone to the right of the rat hole. It was hard, back-breaking work. The mortar was only about a quarter of an inch thick between the blocks and much harder than the stuff that builders use now. Moreover, I had to work largely in the dark, for the light from my torch already had a yellow tinge and I knew it would not last much longer. I was in a sweat of fear lest it would give out altogether, for I dreaded the thought of wandering in an ancient sewer in complete darkness.
But I was happy. Heavens, how happy I was to have something to do other than lie and think about that damned tin box and Sedel’s sneering look as hysteria took me by the throat! After a time, of course, the blade of the knife snapped, but, except for the fact that I could not work so deep, the broken blade proved the more serviceable implement. I don’t think that I ever worked with such a terrible urgency. My back and arm muscles ached until I could have cried out with the pain, and the sweat poured off me. But I did not pause. I dared not pause. The work was so slow. And all the time I smelt faintly that musty decayed stench of an ancient sewer.
For two hours I sawed and hammered and scraped, until at last I could bury my knife to the handle all round the block of stone. But the blade was now only some four inches long and the depth of these blocks was near on a foot. I lay on my back and battered away at the stone with my feet. I kept on with this until at length I lay flat on the stone floor, exhausted. The stone had not budged a fraction. I glanced at my watch again. Half-past two! I got dazedly to my feet and stood breathing heavily and staring at that wall, as though I would walk through it like Alice through the looking-glass.
Then I knew what I must do, and I set to work on the block of stone immediately above the one I had been working on. I must loosen the mortar as deep as I could round every block, working upwards. It was a Herculean task, and, looking back on it, I cannot understand how I found the strength to do it. Those blocks were not one on top of the other. No, each row interlocked, so that every other row I had to loosen two of them.
It was past seven in the morning before I had finished. And during those last hours I had been working like an automaton. I was dazed with fatigue, and only fear kept me at it. I just had to do it, and so I went dazedly on. And when at last it was done, I leant against the wall and went fast asleep. The next I knew it was five to eight and I was lying in a heap on the floor. I climbed stiffly to my feet. I was covered with fine mortar dust from head to foot, and my soul cried out for water. But though it had lost me a valuable hour, that short rest had made all the difference in the world. Without it, I doubt whether I should have been able to do what I had to do. I flexed my muscles to get the stiffness out of them. Then I threw my weight against the wall.
I don’t know how many times I did this. But I was aching with the force of my contact with the stone before I ceased. It had not yielded an inch. It was then that a horrible doubt began to assail my mind. Suppose there was no passage? Suppose the rat hole just opened out because behind the stone was earth? In a panic I bent down and looked into it again. But there was no sign of earth. In despair I seized upon the deed-box. Having bent the fork round my torch, so that it remained alight without my holding it, I lifted the box endways in my arms and, using it as a battering ram, charged the wall. The din of the metal striking the stone was terrific. But now I had worked myself into a frenzy of fear that was very near to panic. At any moment Sedel might arrive. After having been allowed the hope of escape, I could not bear the thought of that tin coffin.
Again and again I charged that wall, always driving the corner of the box against one particular block of stone. And when I was staggering with weakness, I noted with a leap of joy that the two blocks below it had given about an inch at the point where they met each other. The light of the torch was becoming so feeble that as often as not I had been driving the corner of the box against these, instead of against the stone above. The discovery gave me strength. A few more charges and I saw that the blocks above and below were caving in. Again and again I charged that wall, making a din like a blacksmith’s forge. And after every blow I found the blocks had given ground. At first it was only an inch. Then it was two or three, and at last as much as six, with all the blocks to the floor moved slightly inwards.
By this time it was past nine. Every minute I expected the electric light to be switched on and the key to grate in the lock. But the terrible urgency gave me strength, and though my limbs ached with tiredness, I yet found the strength to go on battering against the wall with the deed-box. And at last, on a rush, I felt the box follow through slightly. The blow was followed almost immediately by the sound of a heavy stone striking against stone. I drew back. There, at breast height, was a gap where one of the blocks had been forced through. The two above it were sagging slightly. I pushed them with my hand, thrusting at them with the whole weight of my body. And at each thrust they gave slightly, pivoting outwards and away from each other. And then suddenly one of them fell, clattering on to stone. A moment later I pushed the other out. The smell of the sewers was stronger now. It seemed to fill the whole cell. I thrust furiously at the stones below. A few minutes and another had fallen out. There was now a gap like a window in a ruined castle. I got my torch and peered through.
I think, if I had not been so utterly weary, I should have danced a reel and whooped aloud at what I saw. In the dull yellow light, I saw stone steps leading downwards to darkness beyond which my torch’s feeble light could not penetrate. The loosened blocks gave me a footing and, in an instant, I had thrust my legs through the gap. I lowered myself gently on the other side, and by hanging with one hand and playing my torch on the stone steps below, I was able to drop on them without hurting myself.