"Ja."
The men backed out, relocked the door, and left Hamerton to his meditations and his supper. He ate all the food that had been provided for him, and drank about half the contents of the pitcher. The rest he saved to quench his thirst during the long hours of the night, for he had a foreboding that he would obtain very little sleep during the hours of darkness.
He half counted upon the return of the jailer with writing materials, but no one came. He must exercise his patience and wait. "If I get hold of my spare cash within a week I shall be lucky," thought he.
The increasing gloom of the cell warned him of the approach of night. While the light remained he arranged the coarse blankets of his bed. The supper plate he placed against the door, so that upon anyone attempting to enter, the clatter would warn him. Directly it became night the searchlights along the edge of the cliff flashed incessantly.
Partially divesting himself of his clothing, Hamerton lay down upon the uncomfortable bed. There he remained without any desire to sleep. His mind was revolving the events of the day. His unjust trial, the separation from his companion, rankled within his breast. He wondered how Von Wittelsbach, with all his cunning, would continue to conceal the identity of his victims. What were the secrets of the forbidden land that were so jealously guarded?
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap!
Hamerton raised himself upon his elbow and listened intently.
"What on earth's that?" he asked aloud.
The tapping sound was resumed. The noise seemed to come from the adjoining room.
"Great Scott! Is it someone trying to call me up in Morse?" he asked. "It may be Detroit."