"Mr. Hill, where are you?" it said. "I have come to get you out."
Hill's hand tightened upon his revolver. He was not to be taken unawares a second time. He stood in absolute silence, waiting.
There was a brief pause, then again came the voice. "There's not much point in shooting me. You'll probably starve if you do. So watch out! I'm going to show a light."
Hill still stood without stirring a muscle. His back was to the door. He faced the direction of the voice.
Suddenly, like the glare from an explosion, a light flashed in his eyes, blinding him after the utter dark. He flinched from it in spite of himself, but the next moment he was his own master again, erect and stern, contemptuously unafraid.
"Don't shoot!" said Bill Warden, with a gleam of his teeth, "or maybe you'll shoot a friend!"
He was standing empty-handed save for the torch he carried, his great figure upright against the wall, facing Hill with speculation in his eyes.
Hill lowered his revolver. "I doubt it," he said, grimly.
"Ah! You don't know me yet, do you?" said Warden, a faintly jeering note in his voice.
"Yes," said Hill, deliberately. "I think I know you—pretty well—now."