The cellar was dry and clean and its walls were enamelled white.
Light was supplied by two electric lamps in the ceiling.

There was a table and a chair and a small washstand, and air was evidently supplied through unseen ventilators.

It was indeed a prison and no less, and in her first moments of panic she found herself wondering whether Kara had used this underground dungeon of his before for a similar purpose.
She examined the room carefully.

At the farthermost end was another door and this she pushed gently at first and then vigorously without producing the slightest impression.

She still had her bag, a small affair of black moire, which hung from her belt, in which was nothing more formidable than a penknife, a small bottle of smelling salts and a pair of scissors.