den. Not a
cell door opens till I hear from him direct."

[Illustration]

Doyle chuckled.

"Might as well sit down, Father," he said, "and make yourself
comfortable--"

* * * * *

"What will you do?" cried Lansing.

"Go out and talk to them, of course," replied Halloran. He arose from
his desk, a calm, unhurried man.

"Look," growled Knox, "you get me through to the town. Some of our
people are still there. I'll order out as many soldiers as you want.
I'll see to it that they get here--on the double!"

Halloran flushed. "Would it ease your conscience, general," he grated,
"if you killed off my men instead of leaving them--behind! Now, you will
please keep quiet. You'll be perfectly safe!"

"What will we do with them, sir?" Court gestured at Lansing and Knox.

Halloran strode from behind his desk to the opposite end of the room. As
he twirled the dials of a wall safe he said, "They'll have to remain
here, for now. The men have got between this building and the gate
office." The safe swung open and he reached far inside and took out a
submachine gun. "Here," he held the weapon out to Court. "If I don't
come back, use this to get them to the gate office."

"Didn't know you had an arsenal in here!" cried Slade.

"No one else did, either, except Alfred. Now Doc, think you and Pete had
better stay here."

Slade and Goldsmid pulled themselves out of their chairs as one man.
Their timing was perfect.

"No, you don't, hero!" growled Slade.

"Warden," Goldsmid said, "perhaps _I_ could talk to the men--"

The warden smiled and walked toward the door. There he stopped and said
to Court, "Switch on the speaker system, Alfred. I'll take the portable
mike from the next office. While I'm out there, get word to all
custodial and operating personnel that they will be permitted to leave
tonight. Meantime, I hope they will stay on their jobs. Better phone Mr.
Tate, have someone try to locate Mr. Briggs, be sure and call Dr.
Slade's staff."

"Right, sir."

The three men left the office. Court, the gun cradled under one arm,
picked up the phone and spoke into it. His voice was a low, crisp
monotone. After a while, he replaced the receiver and stood quiet,
staring impassively at the others.

"You might say the warden's career has been twenty years of futility,"
he muttered. Lansing and Knox felt he wasn't actually speaking to them.
"Now me, I'm a screw of the old school. Hardboiled, the