It must have been several hours, for I had been tired from a busy
day, and I wakened stiff from my awkward position. I could not
remember where I was for a few minutes, and my head felt heavy
and congested. Gradually I roused to my surroundings, and to the
fact that in spite of the ventilators, the air was bad and
growing worse. I was breathing long, gasping respirations, and
my face was damp and clammy. I must have been there a long time,
and the searchers were probably hunting outside the house,
dredging the creek, or beating the woodland. I knew that another
hour or two would find me unconscious, and with my inability
to cry out would go my only chance of rescue. It was the
combination of bad air and heat, probably, for some inadequate
ventilation was coming through the pipes. I tried to retain my
consciousness by walking the length of the room and back, over
and over, but I had not the strength to keep it up, so I sat down
on the table again, my back against the wall.
The house was very still. Once my straining ears seemed to catch
a footfall beneath me, possibly in my own room. I groped for the
chair from the table, and pounded with it frantically on the
floor. But nothing happened: I realized bitterly that if the
sound was heard at all, no doubt it was classed with the other
rappings that had so alarmed us recently.
It was impossible to judge the flight of time. I measured five
minutes by counting my pulse, allowing seventy-two beats to the
minute.
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