"What's the matter?" wheezed Legrand. "There's nobody coming, Sammy. This
is the last chance I'll have to talk to you."
"Keep quiet, Ferris." The order was fierce. "I know everything. Don't say
another word."
"But maybe I forgot something. You only know what I've told you. You've
got to listen, Sammy -"
"Sh-h!"
Sammy's eyes were still glued to the unmoving patch of blackness. Despite
its lack of motion, that splotch might indicate a living presence. The man in
the bunk above was anxious to hush his cellmate.
Legrand, in turn, was quite as anxious to proceed. His condition was
delirious. His fevered mind was seeking to deliver its old message through
dried lips. Mumbling words came from the lower bunk. Again, a warning whisper
sounded from above. It would have failed, but for a stroke of fortune.
Click - click - click
The guard was returning to the cellroom.
Legrand, like Sammy, heard the pacing footsteps. With a weary sigh, the
peaked man in the lower bunk rolled over on his side and lay silent. Despite
his fevered brain, he knew the meaning of the clicks and followed the rule that
he had learned - that of silence when the guard approached.
THE guard was slow on this trip. His clicking steps were interrupted as he
stopped at different cells. They came closer; his bulky form blocked out the
feeble light from the central room. His flashlight roamed through the cell
where Ferris Legrand and his fellow prisoner were stationed.
The beams showed the man called Sammy. He was raised upon one elbow. His
eyes had been staring at that motionless patch upon the floor. Now they met the
flashlight's glare, and Sammy's left hand rose.
"What's the matter?" growled the guard.
Sammy pointed to the bunk below.
"Mighty sick," he replied in a low tone. "Maybe he won't last the night
out -"
The guard threw a flash toward Legrand's bunk. He saw the pale face; he
observed closed eyelids. He clicked off the flashlight and lowered his growl as
he spoke to the man in the upper bunk.
"He's asleep now," asserted the guard. "He'll do till morning. They're
coming for him at six o'clock."
The guard paced away. Sammy, still leaning on his elbow, stared hard at
the moonlight on the floor. The guard's form had not obscured it. All the
while, the blackened silhouette had remained. It was still there now!
Sammy peered below. He could barely distinguish the whiteness of Legrand's
face. The sick man was asleep. The guard had told the truth.
The man above dropped his elbow. He continued to stare over the edge of
the upper bunk, watching that patch of moonlight and the strange shadow that
had somehow come across its path.
Long minutes passed. Legrand's breathing was wheezy for a while; then it
faded. The sick man was slumbering quietly. A hard, satisfied smile appeared
upon the face above. The convict who called himself Sam Fulwell closed his own
eyes. Five minutes later, unfaked snores proved that he, too, was asleep.
