the draft from the tunnel the candles
flickered drunkenly. But of the man for whom he sought, for whom he
was risking his life, there was no sign. With a cry of amazement and
alarm Roddy ran to the iron door of the cell. It was locked and
bolted. Now that the wall no longer deadened the sound his ears were
assailed by all the fierce clamor of the battle. Rolling toward him
down the stone corridor came the splitting roar of the siege guns, the
rattle of rifle fire, the shouts of men. Against these sounds, he
recognized that the noise of the explosion had carried no farther than
the limits of the cell, or had been confused with the tumult
overhead. He knew, therefore, that from that source he need not fear
discovery. But in the light of the greater fact that his attempt at
rescue had failed, his own immediate safety became of little
consequence. He turned and peered more closely into each corner of the
cell. The clouds of cement thrown up by the dynamite had settled; and,
hidden by the table, Roddy now saw, huddled on the stone floor, with
his back against the wall, the figure of a man. With a cry of relief
and concern, Roddy ran toward him and flashed his torch. It was
Vicenti. The face of the young doctor was bloodless, his eyes wild and
staring. He raised them imploringly.

"Go!" he whispered. His voice was weak and racked with pain. "Some one
has betrayed us. They know everything!"

Roddy exclaimed furiously, and, for an instant, his mind was torn with
doubts.

"And you!" he demanded. "Why are you here?"

Vicenti, reading the suspicion in his eyes, raised his hands; the
pantomime was sufficiently eloquent. In deep circles around his wrists
were new, raw wounds.

"They tried to make me tell," he whispered. "They think you're coming
in the launch. You, with the others. When I wouldn't answer, they put
me here. It was their jest. You were to find me instead of the other.
They are waiting now on the ramparts above us, waiting for you to come
in the launch. They know nothing of the tunnel."

Roddy's eyes were fixed in horror on the bleeding wrists.

"They tortured you!" he cried.

"I fainted. When I came to," whispered the doctor, "I found myself
locked in here. For God's sake," he pleaded, "save yourself!"

"And Rojas?" demanded Roddy.

"That is impossible!" returned Vicenti, answering Roddy's thought. "He
is in another cell, far removed, the last one, in this corridor."

"In _this_ corridor!" demanded Roddy