Again, even as before, the door swung wide,
the prisoner slipped within, the door clanged shut, the bolts
clattered noisily into their sockets.
And, in the watcher, terror grew--for he had seen the face of
Chicago Red, another of his pals, another who had seen him kill
Griggs. For a time that seemed to him long ages of misery,
Garson sat staring dazedly at the closed doors of the tier of
cells. The peril about him was growing--growing, and it was a
deadly peril! At last, he licked his dry lips, and his voice
broke in a throaty whisper.
"Say, Inspector, if you've got anything against me, why----"
"Who said there was anything against you, Joe?" Burke rejoined,
in a voice that was genially chiding. "What's the matter with you
to-day, Joe? You seem nervous." Still, the official kept on
with his writing.
"No, I ain't nervous," Garson cried, with a feverish effort to
appear calm. "Why, what makes you think that? But this ain't
exactly the place you'd pick out as a pleasant one to spend the
morning." He was silent for a little, trying with all his
strength to regain his self-control, but with small success.
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