They had given him a well-lighted cell on the upper tier, and some of his own things had been brought in to soften its bareness, but my first glance at Swain told me that he was in a bad way.
"Is she all right?" was his first question, and his eyes seemed to burn into me.
"Yes," I answered a little testily, "she's all right—that is, if you mean Miss Vaughan. For heaven's sake, Swain, be a little sensible. What's the use of working yourself up into a state like this! Did you sleep any last night?"
"No," said Swain, after thinking a minute. "No, I believe not."
"How about breakfast?"
"I don't seem to remember about breakfast," he answered, after another moment's thought.
I stepped to the door, called the guard, and, putting a bill into his hand, asked him to send up the prison barber and to have a good meal sent in in the course of half an hour. When the barber arrived, I had him take Swain in hand, give him a shave and shampoo and general freshening up. Then I saw that he got into clean things; and then the breakfast arrived, and I made him sit down and eat. He obeyed passively, and I could see the food did him good. When he had finished his coffee, I handed him a cigar.
"Now, Swain," I began, sitting down opposite him, "I'm going to talk to you seriously. In the first place, Miss Vaughan is in no danger. Simmonds had two men in the grounds watching the house all last night, ready to interfere at the least sign of anything wrong. That watch will be kept up as long as Miss Vaughan remains there."
"That's good," he said. "I didn't know that. But just the same, she mustn't remain there. Even with the men on guard, you may be too late."
"Just what is it you're afraid of?" I asked him, curiously. "Do you think her life's in danger?"