IV

He hung an eternal moment by his fingertips; then he felt rough prongs and he knew at once that sewer workmen used them to lower themselves into manholes. Fist over fist, he let his body sink lower; finally he could find no more steel prongs and he swayed in black space, listening to the siren that seemed to be howling at him from the very rim of the manhole. He dropped into water that was surprisingly warm and was washed violently forward into a vast ocean. Frenziedly his fingers clawed the water, seeking some solid object to grasp. His body was whirled round and round; while spinning in the water, he gave up. His head struck the concrete wall of the sewer and he wondered if he would be battered to death. He flayed his arms wildly and his fingers sank into a slight crevice. He reached upward with both hands and managed to steady himself by pressing the flat palms of his hands hard against an invisible wall. Instinctively he measured the strength of the current and stood slowly, bracing himself against the tug of water to balance himself. The water came up to his knees and dashed past him with fearful velocity.

The siren hooted directly above his head, deafening him; then he heard a prolonged screech of brakes. The siren song died. He stood with his muscles flexed against the rushing water and looked upward through the manhole. Yes; they had found him; they would see that open manhole and would look down upon him in just a moment. He held his breath and gritted his teeth; looming above him in the rain was Lawson’s white face. He heard Lawson say: How did this damn cover get off . . . ? He saw the steel cover moving slowly and then it clanged into place. He was still; the upper world was shut from sight and its sounds were muffled. The whispering rush of the water now droned louder, creating an illusion of another world with other values and other laws. With aching chest, he stood knee-deep in the pulsing current, breathing heavily in utter darkness, filling his lungs with the sharp smell of warm, yeasty rot. But even here in the underground, above the droning rush of water, he was amazed to hear again the faint blare of the siren, penetrating with needle-point sharpness into the hot, close air of the sewer.

Gradually his breathing subsided and his taut muscles relaxed. Even though he stood knee-deep in hostile water, even though his entire body was drenched in what seemed to him a cloud of hot vapor, even though his throat gagged at the reeking odors, he felt that he was safe for the first time in many long and weary hours, felt that he was at last beyond the reach of the three men who had tortured him and extracted an outrageous confession of guilt from him, had made him accept the responsibility of a crime of which he knew nothing. He sighed and looked up and saw that the manhole cover had several small holes through which many delicate fingers of hazy violet light were falling and weaving a mottled pattern of shimmering magic on the surface of the streaking current.