"It's all right," he whispered to himself. "I know the place. It can be done, and I am the man to do it."
It was then somewhat after midday, and, as the man resumed his seat, there was a tread without, a sound of keys grating in their lock, then the door opened and the jailer entered, carrying a sparse meal, which he set down near the prisoner.
The man looked up and nodded good-naturedly enough.
"I thought you didn't mean to let me have any dinner," he said.
"Oh, I don't want to starve you," returned the jailer. "Eat and make yourself comfortable."
It was no unusual thing for the prisoner to engage this man in conversation, and if he was in the mood he answered readily and with sufficient kindness.
"What day of the month is this?" asked the man, preparing to attack the repast set before him.
"The twelfth."
"How a fellow loses his count in this miserable hole," returned the prisoner.
"Don't slander your quarters, there's worse in the world; ten to one you've been in 'em."