"I've got about as much chance as a snowball," he reflected, courage and decision growing stronger each moment. "I might just as well die one way as another. If I could only catch 'em napping for a minute, I might turn the trick. God, that would be—" he was lost in ecstatic contemplation of the glory that such an event would bring.
Footsteps in the outer room recalled him to the bitter reality of their position. He awoke her and whispered words of encouragement into her bewildered ears. Then he put on his coat and threw himself on the floor, first wrapping the rope about his wrists to deceive the guard.
A key turned in the padlock and the bolt was raised. Old man Spantz stood in the doorway, peering in at them. In surly tones Truxton replied to his sharp query, saying that the candle had gone out while he slept.
"It is noon," said the old man irascibly. Then he came in and lighted a candle.
"Noon of the 25th," said Truxton bitterly. "In twenty-four hours it will be all over, eh, Spantz?"
"At noon to-morrow," said Spantz grimly.
There were half a dozen men in the outer room, conversing in low, excited tones; the fervent gesticulations which usually marked their discussions were missing, proving the constraint that had descended upon them. One of them—it was Julius Spantz—brought in the food for the prisoners, setting it on the floor between them.
"It is usually the duty of our friend Julius to feed me," observed Truxton to his fellow-prisoner. "I dare say he won't mind if you relieve him of the task."
"She can feed you if she likes," growled Julius.
"Julius?" queried the girl from the Castle, peering at the man. "Not Julius Spantz, of the armoury?"