It was hopeless then! Baffled, Keith slowly turned and went to the door. He had wrecked his own career to no purpose. . . . But it was not of that catastrophe which he thought as, having rapped to be let out, he stood there with bent head. He was not even conscious of resentment at the more than taunts which had been flung at him, for it was he who had brought the man who uttered them to this pass.
He knocked again, louder; but the sergeant must have gone away, possibly to keep watch below. It came to Keith dimly, like a shape seen through fog, that Ardroy and he had once before been locked in together. . . . Then he was aware that the half-prostrate man on the floor had moved a little, that he was leaning on his left hand, and that those glittering blue eyes were on him again.
“Cannot you get out?” There was impatience in the icy voice.
“No, for I also am locked in,” answered Keith very low.
“You—the informer!”
Keith swallowed hard. “I am a prisoner . . . like you.” But the words would hardly come.
“Why?”
“For neglect of duty,” replied Keith wearily. “For turning back while carrying a despatch.”
“So you cannot even serve your own side faithfully!” observed Ewen with contempt.
Keith turned a little whiter and gripped the handle of the locked door. For an instant the flame of his hot temper flickered, only to subside among the ashes. “No,” he answered after a moment; “no, so it seems. I have disgraced myself, as well as ruining you. . . . The gaoler must have gone away, I am afraid, and I cannot relieve you of my presence until he returns.”