and stone floor, but he sat with his back against the wall, wide awake,
every nerve tense and quivering.

Twice Michael came and looked at him in the light of a torch from the
fire, and retreated muttering. Ivan decided to pretend sleep. The
third time Michael gave a grunt of satisfaction.

He went back to the fire and beckoned the others from their pallets.

"He is dead asleep," he said in a low whisper. "We must make our
plans."

"Good!" said the woman. "What do you want to do about it?"

She too whispered in a low tone and it struck Ivan that for some
strange reason he was listening to a conversation spoken in tones that
ordinarily could not be heard three feet away from the speakers. He
listened intently. Every syllable was clear and distinct. Owing to
some peculiar formation of the vaulted ceiling, the sounds were brought
to him, forty feet from the speakers, as accurately as though spoken
into a telephone. Ivan's courage rose once more.

He heard the man Michael light his pipe.

"I don't know," he said.

"Of course not!" sneered the woman. "You never do! I suppose you
don't want to kill them?"

"What's the use?" asked the man. "Why blacken our souls further than