“Yeah,” the man who had given him the coffee said, grinning toothily. “It’s the finest in the city. How you like her, huh?”

McKay smiled faintly and nodded his head in understanding. He heard a heavy footfall outside and looked up through the bars. A big, jowly man in a spotted, untidy blue uniform looked through at them.

“Let’s go, you birds,” he said in a flat, tired-sounding voice.

The Mexicans rose. McKay remained where he was for a moment, but one of the Mexicans nudged his arm and whispered, “You’d better get up when he says he wants you to get up. Otherwise you get hurt.”

The cop put a key in the lock and opened the door, and McKay rose to his feet. The cop stood back to let the three prisoners pass in front of him.

McKay’s knees felt weak and unsteady. He stiffened his muscles to keep them under control and followed the two Mexicans. They came into a room where a number of other men were waiting. McKay quickly lost interest in his surroundings and gave himself over to foggy memories and a brooding analysis of his predicament. He did not know how long he stood there and he was only dimly aware of the occasional movement and activity in the room. A few things came back to his mind in the semblance of reality. For the rest he continued in a vain probing of his stupefied consciousness. Then a hand was on his arm and he walked where he was led. There were others behind him as he went through a door and walked into a circle of brilliant light that blinded him and stabbed at his eyes as if he were looking straight into a summer midday sun. He could see nothing because of the frightening glare and he closed his eyes to shut out the pain. After a while, by narrowing his eyes to slits, he could make out the platform on which he and the others stood and a group of men who stood in the darkness below like dim shadows.