ness. "D'you hear them? They'll have that door down in a jiffy!"
"But we can't hide in this hole!" panted Wilsnach.
Kestner was now stumbling and groping his way through the blackness.
"Come on!" he commanded.
"But where?" demurred Wilsnach.
"We've still got the wine-cellar. There's a chance there, if we're quick enough."
The next minute they were running down a flight of stone steps, fumbling with a door-lock, and groping and passing their way along a mouldy passage between unbroken walls.
"Hurry," urged Kestner. "And keep one hand against me, through this crowded press-room." For he was groping with both hands now, deviously, through a larger chamber that smelled of benzine and inks and acids, then fumbling and struggling with another door-knob, and climbing still another flight of stone steps.
"Stoop low!" panted Kestner, as he bent a little unsteadily to unlatch a small grated window no bigger than a kennel-front. He swayed from side to side as he did so, like a man uncertain of his footing. He was attempting to scramble up through the opening, but seemed without strength to make it. Wilsnach got a shoulder under him and pushed him up.
When Wilsnach followed he found Kestner still on the flagstone outside, lying flat and gulping down quick lungsful of fresh air, as though the last of his strength had gone. Wilsnach had to help the other man to his feet.
