"Huh?" Pell grunted, startled.
"Yeah," Heintz asserted excitedly. "That gadget of yours will carve out the lock on that door in two shakes."
"Through decyte alloy? Not in your life time!" Pell replied sadly.
"Hell, bright boy, you ain't in an Earth jail. Those walls are steel, nothing more."
It was Pell's turn to be excited. Hastily he rose to his feet and approached the door. He examined the metal surface and saw that the fat man was correct.
Thoughtfully he looked at the lighter in his hand. On Earth it was nothing more than a triviality—a novelty that could be acquired anywhere. But here! Yes, here it might be a means to salvation. There was just a chance, he reflected. The whole culture on Centaura seemed to be geared on a pre-atomic level of technology except for the blaster towers. And even the builders of those fabulous machines for defense never considered the possibility that they might be attacked from within. Such things as atomic lighters on Centaura were not dreamed of; jail cells would not be constructed of decyte alloys that could resist their weak blasts. He looked at the black metal cylinder in his hand; flicked it tentatively and smiled at its short blue flame.
Holding his breath, Pell felt along the lock edge of the door for indentations that would indicate the critical bolt joints. But it was completely smooth and he was able to find nothing.
"Whatcha think?" Heintz asked from behind him.
Pell shushed him frantically. "Pretty good, I think. But don't speak so loudly—I don't know whether there's a guard out there."