The Landing had no jail, not even a guard-house, though the members of the force sometimes spoke of the cells just behind Inspector Kedsty’s office by that name.  The cells were of cement, and Kent himself had helped to plan them!  The irony of the thing did not strike him just then.  He was recalling the fact that no prisoner had ever escaped from those cement cells.  If no action were taken before six o’clock, he was sure that it would be postponed until the following morning.  It was possible that Kedsty’s order was for Pelly to prepare a cell for him.  Deep in his soul he prayed fervently that it was only a matter of preparation.  If they would give him one more night—­just one!

His watch tinkled the half-hour.  Then a quarter of six.  Then six.  His blood ran feverishly, in spite of the fact that he possessed the reputation of being the coolest man in N Division.  He lighted his last cigar and smoked it slowly to cover the suspense which he feared revealed itself in his face, should any one come into his room.  His supper was due at seven.  At eight it would begin to get dusk.  The moon was rising later each night, and it would not appear over the forests until after eleven.  He would go through his window at ten o’clock.  His mind worked swiftly and surely as to the method of his first night’s flight.  There were always a number of boats down at Crossen’s place.  He would start in one of these, and by the time Mercer discovered he was gone, he would be forty miles on his way to freedom.  Then he would set his boat adrift, or hide it, and start cross-country until his trail was lost.  Somewhere and in some way he would find both guns and food.  It was fortunate that he had not given Mercer the other fifty dollars under his pillow.

At seven Mercer came with his supper.  A little gleam of disappointment shot into his pale eyes when he found the last cigar gone from the box.  Kent saw the expression and tried to grin good-humoredly.

“I’m going to have Father Layonne bring me up another box in the morning, Mercer,” he said.  “That is, if I can get hold of him.”

“You probably can,” snapped Mercer.  “He doesn’t live far from barracks, and that’s where you are going.  I’ve got orders to have you ready to move in the morning.”

Kent’s blood seemed for an instant to flash into living flame.  He drank a part of his cup of coffee and said then, with a shrug of his shoulders:  “I’m glad of it, Mercer.  I’m anxious to have the thing over.  The sooner they get me down there, the quicker they will take action.  And I’m not afraid, not a bit of it.  I’m bound to win.  There isn’t a chance in a hundred that they can convict me.”  Then he added:  “And I’m going to have a box of cigars sent up to you, Mercer.  I’m grateful to you for the splendid treatment you have given me.”

No sooner had Mercer gone with the supper things than Kent’s knotted fist shook itself fiercely in the direction of the door.