“For a while I lived on the stuff I could get from the Chinese shops, because they said that I would not be allowed to go into the mess hall, but when my little hoard of money was used up I went hungry.”
“Poor devil,” muttered Hogan, under his breath.
“How did you happen to get into Sing Sing?” asked Bill Wiley, suspiciously.
“I was convicted of killing a girl,” said the man from Number 9, with a shudder.
“But you didn’t do it, I know,” said Ikey, who had been an interested listener to the conversation which had gone on before.
“Since you men are so kind as to take me in, I will tell you about it if you will listen,” said the new man, hesitatingly.
“Go ahead,” said Wiley. “I’m anxious to hear about it. I came near killing a lady myself once.”
The men filled their pipes, drew their chairs close to the man from Number 9, and waited expectantly.
“I was sentenced to be hanged twenty-five years ago for murdering a girl who is to-day alive and happy,” he began. As he spoke, he dropped his voice to a low, intense whisper, and looked over his shoulder in such a horrified way as to make Higgins and Hogan each grasp one of his hands and hold it firmly.
“Why didn’t they hang you?” asked Ikey, childishly.