Clif knew also that the frenzied villain would make haste, that he would come back panting and eager. Appalled, half dazed, he sat and listened.
The first thing he would hear would be the grating of the key; and then would come horrors inconceivable.
Seconds were years at that time. Clif thought that his hair would turn white from the suspense.
And then suddenly he gave a gasp.
There he was!
Yes, the key was sliding in. And now it was turning!
And then slowly the door was opened—groaning and creaking.
Clif imagined the dark, crouching figure. He had left the lantern behind while these deeds of darkness went on.
The tomb-like cell was absolutely black, and Clif could not see one thing. But he heard the door shut, heard the key turned. He shivered as in an ague fit.
Above the noise of the scampering rats he heard a soft, stealthy footstep as the man crept across the floor.