Another quarter of an hour passed--an eternity of torment.

It seemed to Jimmie Dale, for all his will power, that he could not hold himself in check, that he must move, scream out even in the torture that was passing all endurance.

It was silent now, utterly silent--and then out of the silence, just outside his door, a footstep creaked--and a man walked to the stairs and went down.
"Five," said Jimmie Dale to himself.

"The sharpest man in the United States secret service." And then for the first time Jimmie Dale moved--to wipe away the beads of sweat that had sprung out upon his forehead..