“Down, Diogenes!” growled Gwinne; and raised his voice in a roaring chorus:
“And he sunk her in the lonesome lowland low—
And he sunk her in the lowland sea!”
Charlie retraced his steps to the corner and the friendly shadows. He crept down the long blank side of the jail, pausing from time to time to listen; hearing nothing. He turned the corner to the other end. A dim light showed from an unwindowed grating. The investigator stood on a slope and the window place was high. Reaching up at full stretch, he seized the bars with both hands, stepped his foot on an uneven stone of the foundation, and so pulled himself up to peer in—and found himself nose to nose with Johnny Dines.
The prisoner regarded his visitor without surprise.
“Good evening,” he observed politely.
“Good eve—Oh, hell! Say, I ought to bite your nose off—you and your good evening! Look here, fellow—are you loose in there?”
“Oh, yes. But the outer door’s locked.”
“Well, by gracious, you’d better be getting to thunder out of this! You haven’t a chance. You’re a gone goose. You ought to hear the talk I’ve heard round town. They’re going to hang you by the neck!”
“Well, why not—if I did that?” inquired Johnny, reasonably enough. They spoke in subdued undertones.