Fred Starratt rose to his feet.
"Let us go in!" he said.
* * * * *
At supper Fred Starratt nibbled at some dry bread and drank another strong draught of tea. But he had to force himself to even this scant compromise with expediency. There followed smoking in the lavatory and at seven o'clock the call to turn in. Fred scurried confidently to his cell-like room … he was quite ready for solitude.
An attendant was moving about. "You sleep in the first dormitory to-night," he explained to Fred. "It's at the end of the hall."
Fred turned away in fresh despair.
Before the door of the first dormitory a number of men were undressing. Monet was in the group and a newspaper man named Clancy that Fred had met that afternoon. Fred stood a moment in indecision.
"You'll have to strip out here," Monet said, in a matter-of-fact tone.
"Just leave your clothes in a pile close against the wall."
Fred obeyed. The rest of the company regarded him with sinister curiosity. Except for Monet and Clancy all seemed obviously insane. One by one they filed into the room. Fred followed. Twelve spotlessly clean cots gleamed in the twilight.
The twelve men crawled into bed; the door was shut with a bang. Fred heard a key turn… They were locked in!