He turned to the governor. “Colonel,” he said, to recall to the governor his credentials, “to stop the ravings of this crazed prisoner you might tell him that you have had two messages from the administrator of prisons about this matter, in addition to the official order for the removal.” “Tricks! Forgery!” said Freeman contemptuously. “I have found, and doubtless so have you, colonel,” Drexel went on coolly, “that an unnerved prisoner like this, with the fear of the gallows upon him, will make any frantic pretense, that he’s a spy, or what-not, in the hope of thereby gaining a little delay in his execution. At first, you remember, his pretense was that a reprieve was coming.” Drexel’s eyes had never left the governor’s face, that barometer of his fate; and during his last words he saw it began to glower at Freeman. “Enough of this fooling, colonel,” said he in his harshest Captain Laroque voice, giving Freeman his darkest look. “It is not my custom to waste time on these dogs of prisoners!” “Nor mine!” said the governor. “I’m too old a bird to be fooled by such tricks.” “What! You don’t believe me?” cried Freeman. “No, I don’t believe you! And be quiet, if you want an unbroken head!” The governor started out the door. “Come on, Captain Laroque.” “But, colonel, stop, stop!” Freeman cried with frantic energy. “I tell you this is a trick--a plot! He’s going to set those prisoners free! Remember, I give you warning!” “And I’ve given you warning!” returned the governor wrathfully, and drove his heavy fist into Freeman’s face. The spy reeled back, then rushed forward with a wild look of evil in his eyes. “Seize him!” the governor sharply ordered the guards. They pinioned Freeman in their arms. “Hold him till we get out of here. I’ll come back and let you out later.” They passed out of the dungeon, Drexel last. He glanced back. The guards were too occupied by their writhing prisoner to notice, but he caught Freeman’s eyes. He flashed him an instant-long look of triumph. “Since you claim acquaintance with me,” he said, “I wish you good-bye.” “Curse you!” grated out Freeman. “And curse that idiot governor! But in five minutes I’ll be out of here--” But the closing of the door cut off his sentence in the middle. The governor led the way, Drexel brought up the rear, pushing The White One’s chair, and between them Borodin, Razoff and Sonya shuffled with short, clanking steps. Once The White One turned her head and gave him an upward look--a look that might have been a warrior angel’s benediction. And once Sonya stole him back a look--and ah, such a look as it was!... Fresh spirit flamed into him. They moved in clanking processional back through dungeon-bordered corridors--every step a step nearer freedom; and came at last to the governor’s door. “I hope there will be no further delay,” said Drexel.