Only one seemed promising, and that assumed a lot of items Lockley couldn’t be sure of.  He did know, though, that he’d been lifted up before he was dropped into the round opening of this tank-like metal shell.  The top of the box was well above ground.  It was not sunk in place as it would eventually be.  Evidently it was not yet in its permanent position.  The light inside was dim enough, but he could see the other men and the animals and the birds.  He could make out the riveted plates which formed the box’s sides and top.

Inconspicuously, he worked his hand down through the sand bottom of the prison.  Four inches down the sand ended and there was earth.  He felt around.  He found grass stems.  The box, then, rested on top of the ground, which was perfectly natural for a compost pit shell not yet placed where it would finally belong.  The sand....  He explored further.

He waited.  The other three stayed quiet.  The faint brightness around the cover hole faded away.  The interior of the tank-like box became abysmally black.

“Can anybody guess the time?” he asked, after aeons seemed to have passed.

“It feels like next Thursday,” said the voice of the moustached man, “but it’s probably ten or eleven o’clock.  Looks like we’re just going to be left here till they get around to us.”

“I think we’d better not wait,” said Lockley.  “We’ve been pretty quiet.  They probably think we’re well-behaved specimens of this planet’s wild life.  They won’t expect us to try anything this late.  Suppose we get out.”

“How?” demanded the chunky man.

Lockley said carefully, “This box is resting on top of the ground.  I’ve dug down through the sand and found the bottom edge of the metal sidewall.  If it’s resting only on dirt, not stone, we ought to be able to dig out with our hands.  I’ll start now.  You listen.”

He began to dig with his hands, first clearing away the sand for a reasonable space.  He felt a certain sardonic interest in what might happen.  He strongly suspected that nothing undesirable would take place.

It was at least quaint that aliens from outer space should accept a bottomless metal shell as a suitable prison for animals.  It was quaint that they’d put in a sandy floor.  How would they know that such a thing meant a cage, on earth?

Of course the whole event might have been a test of animal intelligence.  Almost any animal would have tried to burrow out.

Lockley dug.  The earth was hard, and its upper part was filled with tenacious grass roots.  Lockley pulled them away.  Once he’d gotten under them, the digging went faster.  Presently he was under the metal side wall.  He dug upward.  His hand reached open air.

“One of you can spell me now,” he reported in a low tone.  “It looks like we’ll get away.  But we’ve got to make our plans first.  We don’t want to be talking outside the tank, or even when the hole’s fair-sized.  For instance, will we want to keep together when we get outside?”