It revealed a large, bare, yellow-papered apartment with a dark-clad figure at the other end of it near the window.

An instant after it burned my fingers and dropped, leaving darkness.

It had, however, revealed something more practical--an iron gas bracket just above my head.

I struck another match and lit the gas.

And we found ourselves suddenly and seriously in the presence of the captive.
At a sort of workbox in the window of this subterranean breakfast-room sat an elderly lady with a singularly high colour and almost startling silver hair.