“What did he cry?”
“Sir, he cried MURDER!”
“Go on.”
“Then I came to him and found him shivering and dripping, and crying fit to break his poor heart.”
“And did you do nothing for him?”
“I did what I could, sir. I took him and twisted his bedclothes so tight round him the air could not get in, and before I left him his sobs went down and he looked like warm and sleeping after all his troubles. Well, sir, they can tell you better that did the job, but it seems the governor sent another turnkey called Hodges to take away his bed from under him.”
“Oh!”
“Well, sir! oh dear me! I hope, your reverence, I shall never have to tell this story again, for it chokes me every time.” And the man was unable to go on for a while. “Well, sir, the poor thing it seems didn't cry out as he had about the gas, he took it quite quiet—that might have let them know, but some folk can see nothing till it is too late—and he gave Hodges his hand to show he bore him no malice. Eh dear! eh dear! Would to Heaven I had never seen this wicked place!”
“Wicked place, indeed!” said Mr. Lacy solemnly. “You make me almost dread to ask the result.”
“You shall see the result. Evans!”