“Yes, I killed Cardello,” said Guisseppi quietly. “I’ll go with you.”
“But who are you?” asked the policeman. “You can’t be Guisseppi. They topped that boy on the gallows.”
“I’m Guisseppi, all right. They brought me back to life with a pulmotor.”
Policeman Rafferty’s jaw dropped.
“Back to life?”
“Yes. I was as dead as stone. I was gone absolutely for an hour.”
“Gone? Gone where?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere. I remember standing on the trap. Then it seemed I was falling for a long time, falling—from a star—or a high mountain top—through miles of emptiness into midnight blackness. There wasn’t any pain. I seemed to land on a deep soft cushion of feathers. I could feel the darkness. It seemed to whirl and billow round me. I couldn’t see myself—or feel myself. But I knew, somehow, I was there in the heart of the darkness. I suddenly found myself on a broad road stretching away into night.”
“Must ha’ been the road to hell,” remarked Policeman Rafferty.