“Where’ve you been?” Murphy demanded.

“Underground, sir,” he answered again, his eyes wide and intent upon their faces.

“Look, boy, you didn’t have to come back here,” Johnson said.

“Goddammit, I told you guys to quit talking to him like that!” Lawson shouted in a wild rage. “We can’t let this fool go! He acts crazy, but that may be a stunt.”

The three men looked at one another in silence. Then all three of them came and stood over his chair. Helpless, he looked up at them, waiting for their judgment, smiling, ultimately confident.

“Well,” Lawson said at last, rubbing his chin, “what’re we going to do with ’im?”

“We’ve got to get ’im out of here,” Murphy said.

Their faces were deadly serious now and he interpreted that to mean that they were going to make up their minds about him, that soon they were going to hear him out, to believe him and let him show them what he had seen.

“We can’t let ’im go blabbering,” Lawson said. He turned to Murphy. “Where’s that paper he signed?”

“What paper?” Murphy asked.

“The confession, fool!” Lawson exploded in exasperation.

“Oh, I got it here in my pocket,” Murphy said.

Murphy pulled out his billfold and extracted a crumpled piece of paper. At once he recognized it as the paper he had signed.

“Yes, sir, mister!” he exclaimed, rising and eagerly stretching forth his hand, “that’s the paper I signed . . .”

Lawson slapped him again and he would have toppled over had his chair not struck the wall behind him. Lawson scratched a match and held the paper over the flame. There was silence in the room as the paper burned down to Lawson’s fingertips.

“You see, boy,” Lawson began soothingly, “I’m burning this paper, see? You didn’t sign anything. It was all a bad dream, see?” Lawson came close to him with the blackened ashes cupped in the palm of his hand. “You don’t remember a thing about this, do you, boy?”

He stared, thunderstruck. His lips moved soundlessly. Were they joking with him? They had burnt up the one thing that had given a meaning to his life! The dim light of the underground was fleeing and the terrible darkness of day stood before him.

“Oh, yes, sir,” he said hopefully, laughing despite the bloody crack in his lip. “That was the paper I signed. But how come you-all burn it up?” he asked hysterically.

“I told you that paper didn’t mean anything!” Lawson yelled.

“Don’t you-all be scared of me,” he pleaded, noticing their fear and uneasiness. “And I’ll sign another paper for you.” He lowered his head and began to whimper. “I’ll show you everything I did . . .”

“What’s your game, boy?” Johnson asked, taking hold of his shoulders. “What do you want? What’re you trying to find out? Come on, tell us who sent you back here . . .”

“Nobody sent me here,” he sobbed. “I came by myself . . . I just want to show you the room . . .”