Lermontoff was again taken from his cell about half an hour before the time he had named for the completion of the charging, and although the Governor said nothing of his intention, the gaoler and his man brought to the cell six charged batteries, a coil of wire, and a dozen lamps. Lermontoff now changed his working methods. He began each night as soon as he had finished dinner, and worked till nearly morning, sleeping all day except when interrupted by the gaoler. Jack, following the example of Robinson Crusoe, attempted to tie knots on the tail of time by cutting notches with his knife on the leg of the table, but most days he forgot to perform this operation, and so his wooden almanac fell hopelessly out of gear. He estimated that he had been a little more than a week in prison when he heard by the clang of the bolts that the next cell was to have an occupant. “I must prepare a welcome for him,” he said, and so turned out the electric light at the end of the long flexible wire. He had arranged a neat little switch of the accumulator, and so snapped the light on and off at his pleasure, without the trouble of unscrewing the nuts which held in place one of the copper ends of the wire. Going to the edge of the stream and lighting his candle, he placed the glass bulb in the current, paid out the flexible line attached to it, and allowed the bulb to run the risk of being smashed against the iron bars of the passage, but the little globe negotiated the rapids without even a perceptible clink, and came to rest in the bed of the torrent somewhere about the center of the next cell, tugging like a fish on a hook. Then Jack mounted the table, leaned into the upper tunnel, and listened. “I protest,” Drummond cried, speaking loudly, as if the volume of sound would convey meaning to alien ears, “I protest against this as an outrage, and demand my right of communication with the British Ambassador.” Jack heard the gaoler growl: “This loaf of bread will last you for four days,” but as this statement was made in Russian, it conveyed no more meaning to the Englishman than had his own protest of a moment before brought intelligence to the gaoler. The door clanged shut, and there followed a dead silence. “Now we ought to hear some good old British oaths,” said Jack to himself, but the silence continued. “Hullo, Alan,” cried Jack through the bars, “I said you would be nabbed if you didn’t leave St. Petersburg. You’ll pay attention to me next time I warn you.” There was no reply, and Jack became alarmed at the continued stillness, then he heard his friend mutter: “I’ll be seeing visions by and by. I thought my brain was stronger than it is--could have sworn that was Jack’s voice.” Jack got speedily and quietly down, turned on the switch, and hopped up on the table again, peering through. He knew that the stream had now become a river of fire, and that it was sending to the ceiling an unholy, unearthly glow.