With difficulty he thrust one through the bars.

His fingers could just lift the latch.
Now the door creaked on its hinges, and in a moment he was out on the stone flags of the bakeroom.

Hurrying through an unlocked passage into the shop, he felt his way to the street door, but it was securely fastened.

The windows?
He tried them both, one on either side, but while he could free the stout wooden shutters on the inside, a heavy iron bar secured them without, and it was impossible to open them.
Feverish with anxiety, he sat down on the low counter, with his hands between his knees, and tried to think what to do.

In the numb hopelessness of the moment he became very quiet.