up against the wall with a terrific crash, hurling the guard on the other side to the floor—and Varge, resistance suddenly gone, pitched forward, recovered himself, and staggered into the hallway.
Shouts and cries were everywhere now—the stillness of the prison, that at night was the stillness of the tomb, was gone—guards, on the run, dashed through the steel-barred gates from the prison proper into the hall. Panting, gasping, his face white with the fearful strain, great drops standing out upon his forehead and trickling courses down his face, Varge leaned heavily against the wall.
The door-guard gained his feet, and his jaw dropped, stared like one looking at a ghost into Varge's face.
"Seven-seventy-seven!" he mumbled. And again: "Seven-seventy-seven!"
There was a smile, grim, ironical, on Varge's lips, as the other guards surrounded him—the door-guard had rushed back to the door and was frantically closing it, shooting home the bolts, nervously, hurriedly turning the great steel key!
