"Wait a minute! We'd just as well take these cigars," answered Pete in the same slinking tone. "Here; take a handful. How'd you get in?"
"Held the jailer up with a gun. Got him tied and gagged. Shut up, will you? You can talk when you get safe out of this." He tip-toed away, Pete following. The quivering searchlight crept along the hall; it picked out the stairs. Halfway down, Pete touched his guide on the shoulder.
"Wait!" Standing on the higher stair, he whispered in the larger man's ear: "You got all the keys?"
"Yes."
"Give 'em to me. I'll let all the prisoners go. If there's an alarm, it'll make our chances for a get-away just so much better."
The Samaritan hesitated.
"Aw, I'd like to, all right! But I guess we'd better not."
He started on; the stair creaked horribly. In the hall below Pete overtook him and halted him again.
"Aw, come on—be a sport!" he urged. "Just open this one cell, here, and give that lad the keys. He can do the rest while we beat it. If you was in there, wouldn't you want to get out?"
This appeal had its effect on the Samaritan. He unlocked the cell door, after a cautious trying of half a dozen keys. Apparently his scruples returned again; he stood irresolute in the cell doorway, turning the searchlight on its yet unawakened occupant.