“Take care!” he gasped.

There was a great cavity before them.  Here, at the end of the gallery, before reaching the corridor which communicated with the private house, there was a steam lift of great power, which was principally used for lowering heavy articles to the packing room.  It only worked as a rule on certain days; on all others the huge trap remained closed.  When the appliance was working a watchman was always stationed there to superintend the operations.

“Take care! take care!” Morange repeated, shuddering with terror.

The trap was open, and the huge cavity gaped before them; there was no barrier, nothing to warn them and prevent them from making a fearful plunge.  The rain still pelted on the glass roof, and the darkness had become so complete in the gallery that they had walked on without seeing anything before them.  Another step would have hurled them to destruction.  It was little short of miraculous that the accountant should have become anxious in presence of the increasing gloom in that corner, where he had divined rather than perceived the abyss.

Constance, however, still failing to understand her companion, sought to free herself from his wild grasp.

“But look!” he cried.

And he bent forward and compelled her also to stoop over the cavity.  It descended through three floors to the very lowest basement, like a well of darkness.  A damp odor arose:  one could scarce distinguish the vague outlines of thick ironwork; alone, right at the bottom, burnt a lantern, a distant speck of light, as if the better to indicate the depth and horror of the gulf.  Morange and Constance drew back again blanching.

And now Morange burst into a temper.  “It is idiotic!” he exclaimed.  “Why don’t they obey the regulations!  As a rule there is a man here, a man expressly told off for this duty, who ought not to stir from his post so long as the trap has not come up again.  Where is he?  What on earth can the rascal be up to?”

The accountant again approached the hole, and shouted down it in a fury:  “Bonnard!”

No reply came:  the pit remained bottomless, black and void.

“Bonnard!  Bonnard!”

And still nothing was heard, not a sound; the damp breath of the darkness alone ascended as from the deep silence of the tomb.

Thereupon Morange resorted to action.  “I must go down; I must find Bonnard.  Can you picture us falling through that hole to the very bottom?  No, no, this cannot be allowed.  Either he must close this trap or return to his post.  What can he be doing?  Where can he be?”

Morange had already betaken himself to a little winding staircase, by which one reached every floor beside the lift, when in a voice which gradually grew more indistinct, he again called:  “I beg you, madame, pray wait for me; remain there to warn anybody who might pass.”