gged at
his sleeve. That meant getting busy, and digging with the pick with
the sawed-off handle. So Anderson wriggled into the horizontal
chamber, which was just large enough to permit his body and arms to
function.

As he hacked away at the damp earth, he could see in the pitch
darkness the dirty sheet of paper, now in Detroit Jim's pocket, upon
which their very life depended. It was a tracing made by a discharged
convict from a dusty leather-covered book in the public library in New
York, sent in by the underground to Jim. The book had contained the
report of some forgotten architect, back in the fifties of the last
century, and the diagram in his report showed the water and sewage
conduit--in use! It ran from the prison building, right down across
the yard, six feet under ground, and out under the north wall, under
the street outside, and finally into the river. Built of brick, four
feet wide, four feet high. A ready-made tunnel to freedom!

Old Man Anderson could hear Detroit Jim's hoarse whisper now, as he
chopped away at the dirt, which he shoved back under his stomach, to
where Jim's fingers caught it and thrust it farther back.

"We're only a couple of feet from that old conduit right now. Dig, you
son of a gun, dig! Can the snifflin'! You dig, and then I'll dig!"

They were saving their matches and candles against necessity.
Mechanically the old man chopped and hacked at the wall of earth in
front of him. Now and then the pick would encounter a stone or some
other hard substance. In the last few days they had come upon frequent
pieces of old brick. Detroit Jim had rejoiced over these signs. For
the old man every falling clod of earth seemed to bring him nearer to
freedom. They also took his mind off Slattery.

So he chopped away, how long he did not know. Suddenly his pick struck
an obstacle again. He hacked at it. It gave slightly. A third time he
struck it, and it seemed to recede. An odour of mouldy air filled his
nostrils. In that little aperture his pick touched nothing now! He
heard something fall! Then he knew! There was a hollow place in front
of them! The abandoned conduit? He stifled a shout.

From somewhere, muffled at first, but ultimately faintly strident,
rose a prolonged wail that seemed to issue from the very earth. The
sound rose, and fell, and rose again. Frantically the pick of Old Man
Anderson hacked away at the dirt, and then at whatever was in front of
him. Detroit Jim snapped the