We slept fitfully, frightfully harassed by the curtailment of circulation due to the straitness of our bonds and the discomfort of our positions which we might not change. Hugh fell over in his sleep, and awakened Nikka and me with his groans as he endeavored to roll off his face. By persistent efforts he finally succeeded in getting on his back; but he was obliged to stay there, and advised us to retain our sitting positions if we could.
Of course, we had no means of estimating the passage of time, but we figured it was well into the forenoon when we abandoned further efforts for sleep. Nobody came to us, and we began to be aware of the pangs of hunger and thirst. At first we paid little attention to this hardship, but as the hours dragged along we realized that our desertion could mean only one thing: that our enemies were determined to assail our courage with every weapon they had. And to tell the truth, courage became something to grapple for after your belly turned upside down for emptiness and your tongue commenced to thicken. To add to our misery, the one lantern flickered out with a rancid stench of oil, and several rats discovered us. They feared us, perhaps, as much as we feared them. But their scamperings and sorties were nerve-racking, and we expected every moment to feel their sharp teeth in our wrists and ankles.
For a while we talked and sang and told stories, but our cracked lips and swollen tongues soon felt the strain of vocal effort. What the others did then I don't know, but I fell asleep—to awaken suddenly with a gasp of agony as I lost my balance and fell sideways, striking my head on the stone floor.
"Too bad," came Hugh's voice from the darkness, strangely muffled. "Hit your head, Jack?"
"Yes," I moaned.
"Twenty-four hours must be nearly up," croaked Nikka.
I fought for a while to work over on to my back, but my limbs had become so stiff that I could not. I had to lie on my stomach, with my head resting, now on one cheek, now on the other. In this position, ear to the floor, it seemed to me that I heard a clink of metal, not outside the door of the dungeon, but somewhere underneath. I asked the others if they heard it, but they said no, and I could tell from their pitying tones that they thought I was becoming delirious.
Yet again I heard it, and almost immediately afterward a wholly different sound: footsteps approaching the door. The two noises persisted together until the dungeon door was thrown open with a clatter. I forgot all about the first noise in the sight of Toutou LaFitte, standing by himself in the doorway, his shirt-sleeves rolled up and a grin of horrible anticipation distorting his beautiful face.
It was as though a mask of animal hunger cloaked his features. Their regularity was undisturbed. Each was in its usual place and relation to the rest, but their effect was entirely abnormal. They were warped and twisted by passions that must have rocked the foundations of the man's soul. His green eyes radiated an unholy light. His long arms were crooked and extended, his hands open and prehensile fingers hooked. He walked warily, bent-kneed, slowly. A slight trickle of saliva flowed from the corner of his mouth.
In the doorway he stood motionless for a moment, surveying the three of us. Then he advanced, leaving the door open against the wall, and unhooked the stable-lantern which hung from his belt. He placed this close to the grating, and prowled over to where I lay.