"But what did you do with the dirt you took from the hole?"
"I strewed it over the floor of my cell, and trod it in by constantly walking upon it."
"Where is the hole?"
"Under my bed. For fifteen years no one has ever thought of moving it. The jailer came down into my cell only once a day. When he had gone, and the doors were closed, and the sound of his footsteps had died away, I would draw out my bed and set to work; when the time for his visit drew near, I would move the bed back to its place, and lie down upon it.
"Day before yesterday I lay down upon it never to rise again. I was at the end of my strength: to-day I am at the end of my life. You are most welcome, young man: you shall assist me to die, and I will make you my heir."
"Your heir!" said Aubry in amazement.
"To be sure. I will leave you this dagger. You smile. What more precious heritage could a prisoner leave you? This dagger is freedom, perhaps."
"You are right," said Aubry, "and I thank you. Whither does this hole that you have dug lead?"
"I had not reached the other end, but I was very near it. Day before yesterday I heard voices in the cell beside this."
"The devil!" said Aubry, "and you think—"