Here and there
in the grim corridors a guard dozed in the glare of an electric light;
and in the office, too, a desk light glimmered where the warden sat at
his desk, poring over a report. Once he glanced up at the clock--it was
five minutes of eleven--and then he went on with his reading.
After a little the silence was broken by the whir of the clock and the
first sharp stroke of the hour; and at just that moment the door from
the street opened and a man entered. He was rather tall and slender, and
a sinister black mask hid his face from the quickly raised eyes of the
warden. For a bare fraction of a second the two men stared at each
other, then, instinctively, the warden's right hand moved toward the
open drawer of his desk where a revolver lay, and his left toward
several electrically connected levers. The intruder noted both gestures,
and, unarmed himself, stood silent. The warden was first to speak.
"Well, what is it?"
"You have a prisoner here, Pietro Petrozinni," was the reply, in a
pleasant voice. "I have come to demand his release."
The warden's right hand was raised above the desk top, and the revolver
in it clicked warningly.
Pages:
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137