The words that Raymond's brain was stumbling, groping for, the “something,” the “anything” to say, found no expression. The man suddenly appeared to be paying no attention; his head was turned in a tense, listening attitude; there was horror in the white face; and now the other's hands closed like steel bands around Raymond's wrists.
“Listen!” whispered the man wildly. “Listen! Oh, my God—listen!”
Startled, Raymond turned his head about, looking quickly around the cell. There was nothing—there was no sound.
“Don't you hear it!”—the other's voice was guttural and choked now, and he shook fiercely at Raymond's wrists. “I thought it had gone away when you came, but there it is again. I—I thought you had told them to stop! Don't you hear it—don't you hear it! Don't you hear them hammering! Listen! Listen! There it is!”
Raymond felt the blood ebb swiftly from his face.
“No—try and compose yourself. There is nothing—nothing, my son—it is only————-”
“I tell you, yes!” cried the man frantically. “I hear it! I hear it! You say, no; and I tell you, yes! I have heard it night and day. It comes from there—see!”—he swept one hand toward the barred window, and suddenly, leaping to his feet, dragged at Raymond with almost superhuman strength, forcing Raymond up from the cot and across the cell. “Come, and I will show you! It is out there! They are hammering out there now!”
The man's face was ghastly, the frenzy with which he pulled was ghastly—and now at the window he thrust out his arm through the bars, far out up to the armpit, far out with horrible eagerness, and pointed.
“There! There! You cannot see, but it is just around the corner of the building—between the building and the wall. You cannot see, but it is just around the corner there that they are building it! Listen to them! Listen to them—hammering—hammering—hammering!”
Sweat was on Raymond's forehead.