"I know what it is," said Harry, eagerly jumping from the bed and pulling the table under the window. "It's some one in the cell next to ours. Let's try to talk to him."
"He's probably a Spaniard or a Cuban, and will not be able to understand you."
"I'm going to try, anyway. Misery loves company, you know."
Harry mounted the table and put his face between the bars.
"Hist," he said.
A low moaning cry answered him.
"Bert, it's a woman," said Harry, turning in amazement to his companion, who now mounted the table beside him.
"How do you know?"
"Couldn't you hear? It was a woman's voice."
"Hist," said Harry, again, as loudly as he dared. "Who are you? Can we help you in any way?"