5.

Sanford Quest was naturally a person unaffected by presentiments or
nervous fears of any sort, yet, having advanced a couple of yards along
the hallway of the house which he had just entered without difficulty, he
came to a standstill, oppressed with the sense of impending danger. With
his electric torch he carefully surveyed the dilapidated staircase in
front of him, the walls from which the paper hung down in
depressing-looking strips. The house was, to all appearances, uninhabited.
The door had yielded easily to his master-key. Yet this was the house
connected with Number 700, New York, the house to which Lenora had come.
Furthermore, from the street outside he had seen a light upon the first
floor, instantly extinguished as he had climbed the steps.

"Any one here?" he asked, raising his voice a little.

There was no direct response, yet from somewhere upstairs he heard the
half smothered cry of a woman. He gripped his revolver in his fingers. He
was a fatalist, and although for a moment he regretted having come
single-handed to such an obvious trap, he prepared for his task. He took a
quick step forward. The ground seemed to slip from beneath his feet. He
staggered wildly to recover himself, and failed. The floor had given from
beneath him. He was falling into blackness....

The fall itself was scarcely a dozen feet. He picked himself up, his
shoulder bruised, his head swimming a little. His electric torch was
broken to pieces upon the stone floor. He was simply in a black gulf of
darkness. Suddenly a gleam of light shone down. A trap-door above his head
was slid a few inches back. The flare of an electric torch shone upon his
face, a man's mocking voice addressed him.