“I protest,” Drummond cried, speaking loudly, as if the volume of sound would convey meaning to alien ears, “I protest against this as an outrage, and demand my right of communication with the British Ambassador.”
Jack heard the gaoler growl: “This loaf of bread will last you for four days,” but as this statement was made in Russian, it conveyed no more meaning to the Englishman than had his own protest of a moment before brought intelligence to the gaoler. The door clanged shut, and there followed a dead silence.
“Now we ought to hear some good old British oaths,” said Jack to himself, but the silence continued.
“Hullo, Alan,” cried Jack through the bars, “I said you would be nabbed if you didn’t leave St. Petersburg. You’ll pay attention to me next time I warn you.”
There was no reply, and Jack became alarmed at the continued stillness, then he heard his friend mutter:
“I’ll be seeing visions by and by. I thought my brain was stronger than it is—could have sworn that was Jack’s voice.”
Jack got speedily and quietly down, turned on the switch, and hopped up on the table again, peering through. He knew that the stream had now become a river of fire, and that it was sending to the ceiling an unholy, unearthly glow.
“Oh, damn it all!” groaned Drummond, at which Jack roared with laughter.
“Alan,” he shouted, “fish out that electric bulb from the creek and hold it aloft; then you’ll see where you are. I’m in the next cell; Jack Lamont, Electrician and Coppersmith: all orders promptly attended to: best of references, and prices satisfactory.”
“Jack, is that really you, or have I gone demented?”