But the others in the cell knew nothing of it, and heard only the death-rattle in the old man’s throat; and his neighbour awoke and roused the others, and when the rattle ceased and the old man’s body grew cold, his fellow-inmates knocked at the door.
The watchman came in, and ten minutes later two convicts carried the lifeless body out of the cell and down to the mortuary. The watchman followed them out and locked the outside door after him. The corridor was left empty.
“Lock up, lock up!” thought Mezhenétsky, who from his door had followed all that went on. “You will not prevent me from escaping from all these horrors!”
Mezhenétsky no longer felt the inward terror that had hitherto oppressed him; he was absorbed by only one thought: the fear of being prevented from carrying out his intention.
With beating heart he went out, and reaching the logs, undid the cord that bound them together, and drew it from under the bundle; then, looking round at the outer door, he took the cord into his cell. There he got on to the stool, threw the cord over the ventilator, and, having tied the ends together, made a noose out of the double cord. It hung too low. He altered this and again made a noose, measured it round his neck, and anxiously listening and looking towards the door, again got onto the stool, put his head into the noose, adjusted it, kicked away the stool, and remained hanging.
It was only when making his morning round that the warder noticed Mezhenétsky standing, with his legs bent at the knees, beside the stool, which lay on its side.
He was taken down, and the prison inspector came running, and, hearing that Román was a physician, called him to give his aid to the strangled man.