Neil came and sat down beside him as the heavy door closed upon them again.

“He took it,” he whispered exultantly.  “He will deliver it this morning.  If possible he will bring us an answer.  I kept out a hundred and told him that a reply would be worth that to him.”

Nathaniel did not speak, and after a moment’s silence Neil continued.

“The jury is assembling.  We will know our fate very soon.”

He rose to his feet, his words quivering with nervous excitement, and Nathaniel heard him kicking about in the straw.  In another breath his voice hissed through the gloom in a sharp, startled command: 

“Good God, Nat, come here!”

Something in the strange fierceness of Neil’s words startled Nathaniel, like the thrilling twinges of an electric shock.  He darted across the cell and found Marion’s brother with his shoulder against the door.

“It’s open!” he whispered.  “The door—­is—­open!”

The hinges creaked under his weight.  A current of air struck them in the face.  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.  “Hush!”

“I would like to see—­”