“Since you claim acquaintance with me,” he said, “I wish you good-bye.”
“Curse you!” grated out Freeman. “And curse that idiot governor! But in five minutes I’ll be out of here—”
But the closing of the door cut off his sentence in the middle.
The governor led the way, Drexel brought up the rear, pushing The White One’s chair, and between them Borodin, Razoff and Sonya shuffled with short, clanking steps. Once The White One turned her head and gave him an upward look—a look that might have been a warrior angel’s benediction. And once Sonya stole him back a look—and ah, such a look as it was!... Fresh spirit flamed into him.
They moved in clanking processional back through dungeon-bordered corridors—every step a step nearer freedom; and came at last to the governor’s door.
“I hope there will be no further delay,” said Drexel.
“None at all,” said the governor. “I have the receipt for the prisoners all ready for your signature. That formality done with and you are free.”
They entered the office. A man who sat at the governor’s desk turned them a casual look. Then he slowly rose to his feet and stared.
It was Prince Berloff.