The guard in the hall shook the doorknob.
“Why are you so long, Paul?” he called.
It was not Dimmock’s voice—proof that Dimmock had really gone, and that another guard had taken his place. The question put McGlory in a quandary. He and Matt both recognized the dilemma, in a flash. The cowboy was about to speak, presumably in an attempt to imitate the servant’s voice, but Matt restrained him with a gesture.
“Tell the man outside you’re coming—tell him to open the door!”
Matt King hissed the words in the prisoner’s ear, and lifted the hand he was using for a gag.
One word from the servant would ruin every chance. Was the fellow frightened enough to do Matt’s bidding? McGlory looked over his shoulder and glared savagely at the man on the floor.
“Paul!” cried the guard, once more rattling the door.
“I’m coming,” said the man, but with a shiver of dread in his voice. “Open the door, Miles!”
“What’s the matter with you, anyhow?” grumbled Miles. “You’ve been in there more’n five minutes.”
As the door opened, McGlory temporarily deceiving Miles with the tray and the white cap and apron, stepped out.