another began, their ends so close together that he hardly felt it as he was transferred from one conveyor to the next.
There was another, similar jolt, this time throwing him forward, so that he thought another transfer had been made, with the new belt moving slower, much slower, than the last. Moving fast, and then transferred, wouldn't there—No, it wouldn't matter. The boxes were loaded as they were taken from the trucks, with quite a bit of time distance between them.
He left the belt when he came again to a light area. This time the belt was only a few inches above the floor, traveling very slowly. It was merely a question of stepping off, pistol in hand, swinging his head as he did so, to take in all possible dangers.
The room, this time, was small—perhaps fifty feet square and thirty feet high. Again there was light, with no sign of the source, and the room was empty. The belt went into the far wall, still without supports. He wondered now, briefly, for the first time about the composition of the belt. Not leather, nor metal—It didn't matter.
There was a doorway, here, to the side of the beltway, in the far wall. A perfectly normal doorway, without a door.
Tredel approached it cautiously, slowly, prepared again for anything. Then he could look in and see the hallway, ten feet wide, ten feet high, stretching hundreds of feet into the distance.
He was watching for light-traps, alarm rays, visible or invisible, whose beams he might break. Apparently there were none, so he stepped into the hall.
He knew that if he were building it himself, he could put in a dozen alarms that could not be detected. The smooth metal walls that seemed without opening could contain an alarm every inch of the way. So it didn't really matter. He could avoid one alarm, and, in so doing, set off a dozen which he didn't suspect. Still he watched.
The hall led to another small room, and there was the belt again, going its endless way. And there was another door, and another hall, and beyond that another room, another door, another hall—
Then he was in the trap. On six sides he was closed in by smooth metal walls, each ten feet from its facing side. Each without break or seam or crack or flaw, tie had a pocket handkerchief, a wallet with money in it, a pistol, cigarettes and matches. It was for the first time, there in the darkness of the trap, that he thought of his small flashlight. It was gone, probably lost on the dock, or even fallen when he was getting over the fence.
He lit a match to make sure of the hopelessness of his position. He held the last match long enough to get a cigarette going.
Then he settled down to smoke, and think, and wait and wonder.
