"Ha, ha, ha! So you are in the trap, eh?" asked the mysterious prisoner.
"What trap?" asked Barnwell.
"The rat-trap of the great Russian Empire."
"I don't know. Who are you?"
"Nobody; for the moment a person gets into the great political rat-trap he loses his identity, and is simply known by a number. I am Number Nineteen; you are Number Twenty."
"How do you know?"
"I can see the number of your cell, as you can, of course, see mine."
"What were you brought here for?"
"For fancying that I was a man, and that I had rights in the world. I was thrown into this dungeon–it must be three months ago–for throwing down the horse of a nobleman who attempted to drive over me. I have had no trial, and expect none. I am as dead to the world as it is to me. I am simply Number Nineteen, and when this prison gets too full of the victims of tyranny, I shall be hustled off to Siberia, to make room for new victims."
"It is dreadful. But in my case I did nothing against the law. I simply brought a letter from America to Prince Mastowix, and he at once threw me into this place."