and they were in a small, open space from which a corridor led off at either end. A convict, on his knees, scrubbing the floor, darted a furtive glance at them—and upon Merton came suddenly a cold, clammy weakness.
"This way, sir," directed the guard.
They turned to the left; and, presently, in the corridor, Willett threw open a door.
"Just step in here, sir—behind the grating, please. They'll have him up in a jiffy."
Dully, Merton obeyed. An icy hand seemed to be at his heart; his mouth was dry. He moistened his lips with his tongue. Frantically now he regretted his decision; if he could but draw back, give some excuse, he would take the chances, a thousand of them, the other way.
He stood behind a mesh-like grating that reached to the ceiling and ran the length of the room, all except the little opening by the door that had allowed him to pass behind it. Another grating, similar but for the fact that it had no opening, paralleled the one behind which he stood. The two gratings were separated from each other by a space of about a yard, allowing room for a guard to pace between them.
Again Merton moistened his lips. There was a door behind this second grating that led to somewhere, from somewhere—Willett was leaning unconcernedly against the wall outside in the corridor. A tread, dull, muffled, came nearer, grew more distinct. Merton's knees were shaking, and it seemed as though Willett must hear the pound of his heart—but Willett still leaned unconcernedly against the corridor wall without—uncon-
