“Not much show there,” he reasoned grimly.  “If a fellow had time, it could be done.  But it would take hours—­with only a pocketknife—­and they’d be sure to hear the noise.  I must see if there isn’t some other way.”

He listened at the door for a moment.  The counterfeiters were still at work over the letter, and another angry discussion was in full sway.  Then he held up the lantern, looking at the flooring over his head.

The planks were heavy but old, and several of them looked to be pretty well rotted.  Picking up a stick that was handy, he poked at one plank after another.  It was not long before he came to one that was so far decayed that the end of the stick went through it with ease.

There was nothing to stand upon but the bench, and so he took it away from the door and placed it directly under the decayed plank.  Then he stood up and pushed on the plank with both hands.  It gave way, sending down a shower of dust and mold in his face, and almost blinding him.

He had made considerable noise, but angry words between the men in the other chamber drowned out the sounds.  Catching up the lantern once more, he lifted it through the opening over his head, and tried to look around.

He could see but little, excepting boxes and barrels, some as decayed as was the floor.  Evidently the apartment above had once been a store-room, but had not been used for years.

Adam Adams did not speculate long over what to do next.  He felt that the farther he got from the counterfeiters the better off he would be.  Setting the lantern on the floor above, he took a firm hold on a plank that looked fairly strong, and drew himself up.  It was a tight squeeze, but he had been through many tight squeezes before, so did not mind it.

Once in the storeroom, his next move was to place what was left of the broken plank into position, and on it he piled several empty boxes and barrels.

“That may keep them guessing as to how I got out of the room below,” he thought.  “They’ll find out sooner or later—­but the later the better.”

Lantern in hand, he moved cautiously around the old storeroom.  There were many empty boxes and barrels, and also sacks that contained musty flour.  Rats were in evidence, and they scurried hither and thither as the detective moved around.

It was not long before he discovered two doors.  One was nailed up, and where it led to, he could not surmise.  The other stood partly open, and through it came a whiff of fresh air.

“That smells like liberty,” he thought, as he breathed in the fresh air.

He looked down a passageway, with a flooring partly of brick and partly of stone.  Where it led to, there was no telling.

Feeling that it would be unwise to use the light longer, he put it out.  But he kept the lantern in his hand, for possible use in the future, either to show the way or as a weapon.