"Kill me, Sebastian," he gasped, "I have lost the nail," and fell in a heap on the floor. "We must find another nail," said Sebastian, after a long silence, but even as he spoke both knew that there was no other nail. "Perhaps, if we rest for a while, we will be able to move the stone without it," said Andrew, but his voice was entirely without hope. The stone had come to have a personality to them both in the hours they had labored upon it. At times they cursed it in hushed voices as one curses an ungrateful woman--at other times they pled with it for a sulky god. Now it had turned into a god forever, a dumb god with a broad, flat, roughened, eyeless face, that sat across the door of life like a plummet of lead, and blocked it, and would not move away. "We will have to kill the guard after all," said Sebastian, tonelessly. "Kill him somehow and chance to rest." His voice showed the utter desperation of the expedient. "Stone walls do no-ot a pri-son make. Nor i-ron BARS a c-a-a-g-e--" giggled Andrew suddenly. "That's funny, isn't it, Sebastian? I remember my mother used to sing that--she had a good voice. But the man who wrote the song was a liar all the same. Oh, wasn't he a liar, Sebastian--" he continued, half-hysterically. "Put me on your shoulders, Andrew," said the other, quietly. "My arm is a little longer than yours--perhaps I can reach it." Andrew gulped, recovered his wits, and started to obey. But just as he bent his back, something rattled on the floor. They looked at each other incredulously, holding their breath--two hunched images of shadow staring at each other intently like apes in a cage. There was another tiny rattle on the floor. Then Andrew felt a pebble strike on his cheek. "Window, Sebastian," he said fiercely, while hope grew up in his mind like a winter-rose. It seemed to him that he stood for hours with Sebastian's feet digging into his shoulders while Sebastian whispered hurriedly in Mahonese to another whisper, swift and gentle as the rustle of a green leaf on a budded tree. Then at last Sebastian was down and talking in fierce, little, jerky phrases. "Caterina," he said, "She managed to get away. There's a sentry but he's a fool. Sleeps. Oh, you English--you think you can watch a rathole with a lazy cat. Boat, by the old wharf. Tomorrow night. They'll think we've gone by land. She'll be at the boat. Your boy helped. Carlos. He says you gave him a dollar. He's very grateful." "What about the nail?" said Andrew, still tormented by its loss. "We have better than nails now," said Sebastian, luxuriously. He opened his hand and showed Andrew a thin glass bottle full of yellow liquid. He shook it lovingly. It rattled. "Files," he said huskily. "Two files. And oil to quiet them." Andrew began to laugh soundlessly--a painful laughter that racked the pit of his stomach. Then he thought of something else, and his laughter stopped. "What did they do to her?" he said, trembling.