Springing out of bed he groped for the plate that he had placed against the door. "Tap, tap—tap—tap, tap—tap," he signalled, the double sounds corresponding with the "dashes" of the Morse code.
To his inexpressible delight the question came.
"Is that Ham? I'm Det."
"How did you know I was here?"
"Guessed it."
"Think we'll be heard?"
"No; only be careful."
For the best part of an hour the friends conversed at the rate of about six words a minute. It was slow work, but the fact of being able to communicate at all was a source of mutual satisfaction. Caution prevented them from discussing any probability of escape, for should their jailers hear and understand the messages that passed between the prisoners it would be almost a certainty that one of them would be moved to a more remote part of the building.
At intervals during the night communication was re-established. Dawn found Hamerton weary-eyed and pale. He had not slept a wink.
At seven the warders appeared, bringing the Sub's breakfast. This consisted of a kind of coarse porridge and a slice of rye bread.