“Shut up!” Murphy bellowed, slapping him.

He stared at Lawson, then he ran to Lawson, feeling that Lawson alone would understand him, would help him.

“Mister, mister . . .” he whimpered, stretching forth his trembling hands to Lawson. “Please, mister . . . Just let me show you!”

Before he knew it he felt a sharp impact under his chin; darkness covered his eyes. He felt himself being lifted and laid straight out on the sofa. He heard low voices about him and he struggled to rise, but a hard hand caught him and held him. His brain was clearing now. But I got to show ’em, he thought desperately. He pulled to a sitting posture and stared with glazed eyes. It had grown much darker. How long had he been out? He did not know.

“Say, boy, will you show us where you went underground?”

“Yes, sir!”

His heart swelled with gratitude. Lawson believed him! He rose, glad. He held on to the arm of the sofa, for he was barely able to stand.

“Okay boy. We’ll take you down. But you better be telling the truth, you hear? You better show us where you hid.”

He clapped his hands with wild joy.

“Yes, sir! I’ll show you!” he exclaimed. He had triumphed; he would do what he had felt was compelling him all along. At last he would be free of his burden. “I’ll show you everything!”

“Take ’im down,” Lawson said.

The three policemen put on their caps and coats and fastened their guns at their hips. Murphy and Johnson took him by his arms and led him down the stairs and into the vestibule. When he reached the street, he saw that it was night and a fine, steady rain was falling.

“Just like when I went down,” he told them eagerly.

“What?” Lawson asked.

“The rain,” he said, sweeping his arm in wide and generous arcs. The night reminded him of the underground and made him feel at home, as though he were nearing the end of a long journey. He was unshakably confident now. All along he had felt that something like this would happen, and now it was coming true! Now they would see what he had seen; they would hear what he had heard; they would feel what he had felt. He would lead them into the sewer and take the bricks out of the holes he had made. He wanted to make a hymn, to prance about in ecstasy.

“Get into the car, boy,” Lawson ordered.

“Yes, sir.”

He climbed in and Murphy and Johnson sat to either side of him; Lawson got behind the wheel and started the motor.

“Now, tell me where to go,” Lawson said.

“Yes, sir,” he said. “To the hospital.”

The car rolled slowly; he closed his eyes and he remembered the song he had heard in the church, the song that had wrought him to such a high pitch of terror and pity. He began to sing softly, lolling his head: