Page:Flying Death.pdf/170

 bombs. I thought of the ton bombs poised under airplanes hovering above the ship—and of Bane's broken brain. I went again to the steel panels of the door. I went to the window and tried with my pocket knife to pick the mortar from between the stones of the mullions.

With my supper—I supposed they would send me supper—I might procure a better implement. But with my supper something different arrived.

A servant, accompanied by another who attended to the opening and fastening of the door, laid a tray and departed.

I sat at the little table, shaking out the napkin which lay on the tray, when in the center of the clean white square of linen, three pencilled numerals caught my eye, 18—35—21.