you?”
“Anything in reason.”
“Get the keys to all these cells--send 'em in here to me by Ismail--and leave me in here alone!”
Saunders whistled and wiped sweat from his glistening face, for in spite of windows open to the courtyard it was hotter than a furnace room.
“Mayn't I have you thrown into a den of tigers?” he asked. “Or a nest of cobras? Or get the fiery furnace ready? You'll find 'em sore--and dangerous! That man at the end with handcuffs on has probably been violent! That 'God be with thee' stuff is habit--they say it with unction before they knife a man!”
“I'll be careful, then,” King chuckled; and it is a fact that few men can argue with him when he laughs quietly in that way. “Send me in the keys, like a good chap.”
So Saunders went, glad enough to get into the outer air. He slammed the great iron door behind him as if he were glad, too, to disassociate himself from King and all foolishness. Like many another first-class man, King sheds friends as a cat sheds fur going under a gate. They grow again and quit again and don't seem to make much difference.
The instant the door slammed King continued down the line with his left wrist held high so that the occupant of each cell in turn could see the bracelet.
“May God be with thee!” came the instant greeting from each cell until down toward the farther end. The occupants of the last six cells were silent.
Numbers had been chalked roughly on the doors. With wetted fingers he rubbed out the chalk marks on the last six doors, and he had scarcely finished doing that when Ismail strode in, slamming the great iron door behind him, jangling a bunch of keys and looking more than ever like somebody out of the Old Testament.
“Open every door except those whose numbers I have rubbed out!” King ordered him.
Ismail proceeded to obey as if that were the least improbable order in all the world. It took him two minutes to select the pass-key and determine how it worked, then the doors flew open one after another in
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