“She has the cottage, Herb. That’s all. I thought you ought to know about it — just in case there was any way — anybody that I could go to — I can work, if I have the place—”
“Tell me the rest, Jerry,” said Carpenter grimly.
“Madge is sick, Herb,” said Jerry Stevens. “I’ve got to send her to the hospital. I’ve got to get some one in to take care of the kids while she’s gone. I guess she didn’t write you any of her troubles. That’s like Madge.
“I can raise a little money, Herb — enough to look out for a few weeks — while I go up to New York to try for a job. But after that — well—”
“Time’s up.”
It was the keeper who spoke. He was drawing Convict 9648 away from the wire screen.
“Get her to the hospital, Jerry,” pleaded the prisoner. “Do everything you can — don’t worry about the rest. I’ll—”
Jerry Stevens was nodding as Carpenter was drawn away. Scarcely more than a boy, Jerry had faith in this man, whom he had idolized before the crash.
WALKING to his cell, Herbert Carpenter scarcely saw the scenes about him. His brain was bursting with an uncontrollable madness. The news that he had just received formed a sordid story of treachery.
He had been double-crossed — by the men whom he had trusted. Crook though he was, Carpenter had always believed that honor could exist among criminals.