s in the
other cells and I can't afford to miss the opportunity. Just explain to
the P. K., will you? I'm afraid I was rather rude to him."

Grant explodes in mirth. "Well, you did jar him a little. He telephoned up
to my house while I was at supper and said, 'Please hurry down here, for I
can't get that fellow out!'"

I can not help laughing myself at the poor P. K.--panic-stricken because a
man refused to come out of the jail. "Now let me stay the night here," I
say to Grant, "and send someone for me at six o'clock to-morrow morning.
But for Heaven's sake don't make it any later than six," I add.

Grant is a little anxious, feeling his responsibility to the Warden. "Are
you sure you'd better do this?" he asks. "How do you feel? How are you
standing it?"

"Oh, it's the most interesting thing I have done yet," I answer, "and my
experience would have been a failure without it. Now, don't worry. I shall
last until six o'clock in the morning at any rate. But remember--not a
minute later than six!"

Grant promises to arrange it, and our whispered conference comes to an
end. He and the other officer take their departure; again the inner door
is shut and locked, the footsteps travel down the corridor, the outer door
is shut and locked; and then silence, which is broken once more by the
voice of Number Four, an anxious voice this time.

"Has he gone?"

Silence. Then Number Two's gentle tones, "I think he went with the
officer. I don't hear anything in his cell. Yes, he must have gone."

A sigh comes from Joe, and I think it unfair to let the matter go any
farther. Some remarks might be made which would prove embarrassing.

"No, boys, I haven't deserted you!"

I shall not attempt to set down the words that follow.

Now I truly am a prisoner; I can not possibly get myself out of this iron
cage, and there is no one to let me out. There is no one except my fellow
prisoners within hearing, no matter how loud I might cry for help. This at
any rate is the real thing, whatever can be said of the rest of my bit.
And now that all chance of escape is gone I begin to feel more than before
the pressure of the horror of this place; the close confinement, the bad
air, the terrible darkness, the bodily discomforts, the uncleanness, the
lack of water. My throat is parched, but I dare not drink more than a sip
at a time, for my one gill--what is left of it--must last until morning.
And then there is the constant whirr-whirr-whirring