Fenner came round again a little later. There seemed to be an iron clapper banging inside his skull. When he opened his eyes, the walls of the room converged in on him. Terrified, he shut his eyes, holding on to his reason.
He stayed that way for a while, then he opened his eyes again. This time the walls moved slowly and he was no longer scared. He crawled on his hands and knees across the room and tried the door handle. The door was locked. He had only one obsession now. He wasn’t going to tell them anything. They had beaten him over the head so much that he had lost much of his reason, and he was no longer aware of the pain that tortured his body.
He thought, I’ve gotta get out of this. They’ll go on until they kill me. Then he remembered what they had done to the Chinaman and he went a little cold. I couldn’t take that, he thought. No, I guess if they try that thumb-screw I’m going to turn yellow. A cunning gleam came into his eyes and he put his hand on the buckle of his belt. He undid the belt and pulled it through the loops of his trousers. Then he climbed unsteadily to his feet. He had to put one hand against the wall to support himself.
With exaggerated care he threaded the long strip of leather through the buckle. Then he passed the loop over his head, drew the belt tight round his neck.
He said, “I gotta find a nail or a hook or something. I gotta fix the other end somewhere.” He wandered round the room, searching the bare walls. He made a complete circle of the room and stopped by the door again.
He said, “What am I going to do now?”
He stood there, his head hanging on his chest, and the belt swinging from his neck. He went round the room again more carefully, but the walls were naked. There was no window, no hooks, only the electric light bulb high up out of his reach.
He wondered if by putting his foot through the loop made at the other end of the belt, he could strangle himself. He decided he couldn’t. He sat on the floor again and tried to think. The clapper went on banging inside his skull, and he held his head in his hands, swaying to the beat.
Then he saw how he could do it. He said, “I guess I’m not as smart as I used to be.” He crawled over to the door on his hands and knees and fastened the belt round the door handle. By lying face downwards he could hang himself all right. It’d take time, but he guessed if he stuck it, he’d croak.
He spent quite a time fastening the belt securely to the handle. He made it short so that his neck was only a few clear inches from the brass handle, then he slid his feet away slowly until he was stretched out, his weight supported by his hands.