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He had done this a dozen times before, but some instinct drove

him to repeat the process. There was always hope of the

undiscovered, and, besides, he needed the physical action and the

close application of his mind. So, mechanically and doggedly he

went over every inch of his little prison.

But in vain.

The roof and walls were of heavy planking and were old. They were

full of nicks as well as wood-knots, and the appearance of some

of the former gave Code an idea. He went carefully over the

boards, sticking his thumb-nail into them and lifting or pressing

down as the shape of the nick warranted. For they resembled very

much the depressions cut in sliding covers on starch-boxes

whereby such covers can be pushed in their grooves.

At any other time he would have considered this the occupation of

a madman, but now it kept him occupied and held forth the faint

gleam of hope by which he now lived.