Rufus Dawes lay on the deck motionless, breathing heavily.

The savage circle glared at his prostrate body.

The alarm ran round, and all the prison crowded down to stare at him.

All at once he uttered a groan, and turning, propped his body on his two rigid arms, and made an effort to speak.

But no sound issued from his convulsed jaws.
"He's done," said the Moocher brutally.