Norvell Page

“ He fastened one end to the bars, put the loop about his throat, and let himself sag upon it, sustaining his weight with his hands on the bars so that he could still breathe. Then he beat against the steel as if he kicked in his death agony.
The man in the next cell rolled over and cursed, saw the dangling body and shrieked. “Hey, the damned dope's killing himself!”
“God Almighty!” another man cried.
The entire cell block suddenly went mad, cursed, screamed, shouted, beat upon the bars, cried out like a menagerie in a blasting thunder storm. ”

“ Wentworth stared into Kirkpatrick's eyes. “Take me out of here,” he said, “and I will lead you and your men to the master of the plague.”
Kirkpatrick shook his head heavily. He turned his back on Wentworth and strode across the room and back again, pressing his temples with his palms, but no words squeezed from his lips.
“The master of the plague,” Wentworth whispered, “I'll take you to him!”
Kirkpatrick's hands dropped. His eyes were dull. “The city is under martial law,” he said. “Troops patrol the streets. Any person who leaves his house after dark is shot on sight. ”

“ He raised a clenched, shaking hand above his head.
“It isn't so, Wentworth,” his eyes were pleading. “Dick, it isn't so. You're not guilty! I know you're not guilty! You can't be. Why, man—”
For moments the men's eyes met, then abruptly Kirkpatrick crossed to his desk and touched a button. A man sprang into the room. Kirkpatrick looked at him as if he were some strange apparition, but presently he got out words:
“Order out my car. Get a squad of men. Take charge of this prisoner and wait for me. If he tries to escape—kill him.” ”