This sudden hope was soon dashed. The noise overhead continued the same as before except that now there was added to it a steady dripping sound from the leaky pipes. First it was in one place and then in another. Judy tried not to listen to it, but she couldn’t help the feeling of panic that was mounting inside her. Horace was outwardly calm.
“What difference does it make what time it is?” Horace called.
“Too late....” was the only reply.
“Too late for what?” asked Judy. “Surely we can still do something.”
“Report,” came the voice, fainter now. “Parole officer ... eleven today. Now they’ll send me ... back....”
At last Judy understood.
“You are Dick Hartwell, aren’t you?” she asked. “You wanted to report to your parole officer, but someone shut you down here so you couldn’t. Is that it?”
The answer was barely more than a sigh.
“Who did it?” asked Horace. “Was it the work of a gang of jewel thieves? I suppose they were afraid that you would report their activities, too?”
“No,” the prisoner said. “They wanted....”