THE doctor sank to the ground, while Constance stared over his head at the gate, which only a moment before had opened the way to freedom. She scarcely yet realized what had happend.
Mr. Deeling did not cry out. He was fingering the gate, as a sick man fingers the counterpane, touching it here and there along one of the sides where it fitted closely into the steel post.
“We have made a mistake,” he muttered. “It was to open at 5,000, and not to close—4,927, 4,928, 4,929—”
His silk hat sat well on the back of his head, and a large amount of white cuff showed upon his wrists.
“Stop that counting, for God’s sake,” said Constance. The sound of the dry husky voice was maddening. He took no notice.
“Help me with Doctor Murchison,” she begged.
“4,998, 4,999, 5,000,” he concluded with a shou
