Another instant and they stood in the corridor, listening,
crushing back the breath in their lungs, not daring to speak. Only the
drip of water came to their ears. Gently Neil drew his companion back
into the cell.
"There's a chance--one chance in ten thousand!" he whispered. "At the
end of this corridor there is a door--the jailer's door. If that's not
locked, we can make a run for it! I'd rather die fighting--than here!"
He slipped out again, pressing Nathaniel back.
"Wait for me!"
Nathaniel heard him stealing slowly through the blackness. A minute
later he returned.
"Locked!" he exclaimed.
In the opposite direction a ray of light caught Nathaniel's eye.
"Where does that light come from?" he asked.
"Through a hole about as big as your two hands. It was made for a stove
pipe. If we were up there we could see into the jury room."
They moved quietly down the corridor until they stood under the
aperture, which was four or five feet above their heads. Through it they
could hear the sound of voices but could not distinguish the words that
were being spoken.
"The jury," explained Neil. "They're in a devil of a hurry! I wonder
why?"
Nathaniel could feel his companion shrug himself in the darkness.
"Lord--for my revolver!" he whispered excitedly. "One shot through that
hole would be worth a thousand notes to the girls!" He caught Marion's
brother by the arm as a voice louder than the others came to them.
"Strang!"
"Yes--the--king!" affirmed Neil laying an expostulating hand on him.
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