CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

Harold Girard surveyed the room again, this time, in a quest for whatever he could use to drill the wall. Books at that point in time were useless. The wall clock which was hung above him only served as a reminder that his time was running up and his lecturer could come in at any moment. The window showed him as morning transformed to early afternoon with the blistering heat that attenuated every second. There was nothing he could see that was of help. Then his eyesight landed on something. The flower vase which was a few metres from him.

“Wilkes, are you there?” he whispered, with his sight fully fixed on the broken vase. A plan was formulating in his head. It wasn't much but it was something. He had to break down the wall although his professor will sooner or later, be aware of it.

“Yeah, yea—” Wilkes let out a dry, hearty cough. “Have you found a way to get us out of... Here?” He coughed again and