There was a signaling tug at the cord; Pete dropped it.
Pete dressed himself; he placed a chair under the window; then he extinguished the lamp, took the saw, and prepared to saw out the bars.
But it was destined to be otherwise.

Even as he raised the saw, he stiffened in his tracks, listening; his blood tingled to his finger tips.
He heard a footstep on the stair, faint, guarded, but unmistakable.

It came on, slowly, stealthily.
Pete thrust saw and rope under his mattress and flung himself upon it, all dressed as he was, face to the wall, with one careless arm under his head, just as if he had dropped asleep unawares.
A few seconds later came a little click, startling to tense nerves, at the cell door; a slender shaft of light lanced the darkness, spreading to a mellow cone of radiance.

It searched and probed; it rested upon the silent figure on the bed.
"Sh-h-h!" said a sibilant whisper.
Peter muttered, rolled over uneasily, opened his eyes and leaped up, springing aside from that golden circle of light in well-simulated alarm.
"Hush-h!" said the whisper.

"I'm going to let you out.