Walking between Hendricks and Brady, Ramirez left the dark room behind him. They took him to another room, a small room with a hard, wooden bench and they told him to sit down and wait. He looked after them as they went out. When they were gone, doubts began to torture him. He could no longer remember what the man whom he had just pointed out as a murderer looked like. Why had he suddenly been so sure in that dark room?

Ramirez leaned forward on the bench, dropping his arms limply between his knees. His head began to ache violently. He propped his elbows on his knees and clutched his temples with his veined, calloused hands. What would they expect of him now, he wondered. With a tremendous effort he controlled himself sufficiently to look up at the door which the two policemen had closed behind them. Where had they gone? A picture of what they might be doing flashed through his mind, something Santillo had told him they did behind closed doors. Would they lead him, too, through that door? He stared at it, fascinated. Then he began to shiver as if he had a chill.

On the other side of the door which had become a symbol of horror to the Filipino, there was a short corridor. Then there was another door which led to a room, furnished with a wide wooden table and a number of unpainted chairs.

McKay sat in the center of this room and in a semi-circle before him stood Captain Hendricks, Brady, a plainclothesman named Harrison and a uniformed cop. McKay looked from one to the next trying hard from the expressions on their faces to learn what was about to happen to him and why. His head hurt from the previous night’s drinking and aware though he was that something serious was happening, a lethargy possessed him which made it impossible for him to feel fear or any other emotion. As a result, insolence rather than the curiosity he felt was what the policeman saw in his face.

Hendricks drew down the corners of his mouth, furrowing his forehead into a somber frown. He leaned slightly forward and peered at the other man coldly.

“You’re in a spot here, McKay,” he said meaningfully. “I suppose you know that.”

McKay shrugged. “It looks like a spot, all right,” McKay said slowly.

Hendricks thought he detected a contemptuous sneer in the reply. His face darkened even further. His eyes were cold with hatred.

“That’s right, McKay,” he said. “And it’s a damned tough one, too. The kind of spot that leads you into the gas chamber. Now suppose you tell us all about it, eh? That’ll make it a lot easier for all of us. A lot easier for you too, McKay.”