The day wore on and still the stiffening corpses lay where they had fallen. Twilight came and then darkness. A head appeared above the top of the wall that had enclosed the grounds. Eyes peered through the night and keen ears lis-tened for any sign of life within. At last, evidently satisfied that the place was deserted, a man crawled over the summit of the wall and dropped to the ground within. Here again he paused, peering and listening.
What strange business had he here among the dead that demanded such caution in its pursuit? Presently he ad-vanced toward the pile of corpses. Quickly he tore open coats and searched pockets. He ran his fingers along the fingers of the dead. Two rings had rewarded his search and he was busy with a third that encircled the finger of a body that lay beneath three others. It would not come off.
He pulled and tugged, and then he drew a knife from his pocket.
But he did not sever the digit. Instead he shrank back with a muffled scream of terror. The corpse that he would have mutilated had staggered suddenly to its feet, flinging the dead bodies to one side as it rose.
"You fiend!" broke from the lips of the dead man, and the ghoul turned and fled, gibbering in his fright.
The tramp of soldiers in the street beyond ceased sud-denly at the sound from within the factory yard. It was a detail of the guard marching to the relief of sentries. Amoment later the gates swung open and a score of soldiers entered. They saw a figure dodging toward the wall a dozen paces from them, but they did not see the other that ran swiftly around the corner of the factory.
This other was Barney Custer of Beatrice. When the com-mand to fire had been given to the squad of riflemen, a single bullet had creased the top of his head, stunning him.
All day he had lain there unconscious. It had been the tugging of the ghoul at his ring that had roused him to life at last.
Behind him, as he scurried around the end of the factory building, he heard the scattering fire of half a dozen rifles, followed by a scream--the fleeing hyena had been hit. Bar-ney crouched in the shadow of a pile of junk. He heard the voices of soldiers as they gathered about the wounded man, questioning him, and a moment later the imperious tones of an officer issuing instructions to his men to search the yard. That he must be discovered seemed a certainty to the American. He crouched further back in the shadows close to the wall, stepping with the utmost caution.
Presently to his chagrin his foot touched the metal cover of a manhole; there was a resultant rattling that smote upon Barney's ears and nerves with all the hideous clatter of a boiler shop. He halted, petrified, for an instant. He was no coward, but after being so near death, life had never looked more inviting, and he knew that to be discovered meant certain extinction this time.
The soldiers were circling the building. Already he could hear them nearing his position. In another moment they would round the corner of the building and be upon him.
For an instant he contemplated a bold rush for the fence. In fact, he had gathered himself for the leaping start and the quick sprint across the open under the noses of the soldiers who still remained beside the dying ghoul, when his mind suddenly reverted to the manhole beneath his feet. Here lay a hiding place, at least until the soldiers had departed.
Barney stooped and raised the heavy lid, sliding it to one side. How deep was the black chasm beneath he could not even guess. Doubtless it led into a coal bunker, or it might open over a pit of great depth. There was no way to dis-cover other than to plumb the abyss with his body. Above was death--below, a chance of safety.
The soldiers were quite close when Barney lowered him-self through the manhole. Clinging with his fingers to the upper edge his feet still swung in space. How far beneath was the bottom? He heard the scraping of the heavy shoes of the searchers close above him, and then he closed his eyes, released the grasp of his fingers, and dropped.
