“I recognize the man who was seated, in the prisoner at the bar; but at that time he wore a beard.”
“Tell the Court what happened.”
“The men were facing me. One of them—the prisoner—was naked to the waist. His breast was tattooed. The other—the man who stood up—was touching him with a needle, which he applied, again and again, to a saucer on the table.”
“Could you hear what they said?”
“I could; for the catch of the lattice window had not caught, and there was a slight chink open.”
“You listened?”
“I could not help it; the scene was so strange. I heard the man with the needle give a sigh of relief, and say, ‘There, it’s finished, and a pretty job too, though I say it.’ The other said, ‘You have done it beautifully, Dicky; it’s a most interesting art. Now, just out of curiosity, let me tattoo you a bit.’ The other man laughed, and took off his coat and shirt while the other dressed. ‘There’s scarce an inch of me plain,’ he said, ‘but you can try your hand here,’ pointing to the lower part of his shoulder.”
“What happened then?”
“They were both standing up now. I saw the prisoner take out something sharp; his face was deadly pale, but the other could not see that. He began touching him with the sharp object, and kept chaffing all the time. This lasted, I should think, about five minutes, when the face of the man who was being tattooed grew very red. Then he swayed a little, backward and forward, then he stretched out his hands like a blind man, and said, in a strange, thick voice, as if he was paralyzed, ‘I’m very cold; I can’t shiver!’ Then he fell down heavily, and his body made one or two convulsive movements. That was all.”
“What did the prisoner do?”