"You are right, Smith," I agreed. "Shall we get out again?"

"Not yet. I have an idea. Look yonder."

He grasped my arm, turning me in the desired direction.

Beyond a great expanse of unbroken darkness a ray of moonlight slanted
into the place wherein we stood, spilling its cold radiance upon rows
of kegs.

"That's another door," continued my friend--I now began dimly to
perceive him beside me. "If my calculations are not entirely wrong, it
opens on a wharf gate--"

A steam siren hooted dismally, apparently from quite close at hand.

"I'm right!" snapped Smith. "That turning leads down to the gate. Come
on, Petrie!"

He directed the light of the electric torch upon a narrow path through
the ranks of casks, and led the way to the further door. A good two
feet of moonlight showed along the top. I heard Smith straining;
then--

"These kegs are all loaded with grease!" he said, "and I want to
reconnoiter over that door."

"I am leaning on a crate which seems easy to move," I reported. "Yes,
it's empty. Lend a hand."