"I know nothing about any missing money," replied the bank cashier, doggedly. "See here, man, what I want to ask is: Do you intend to torture me needlessly?"
"No; what do you want?"
"Let me go to my own cabin, and let me have these handcuffs off," pleaded the prisoner. "I need rest; I'm nearly a wreck."
"I can let you go to your cabin, and even remove the handcuffs," agreed Mr. Jephson. "But I'll have to place a guard in there with you.
"All right, then," sighed the prisoner.
He was taken to his own cabin, the handcuffs removed, and the cashier threw himself upon his bed, while the deputy marshal took a seat where he could watch his man.
Captain Blake begged a similar privilege, which was refused. He was made to go out on deck where he could be watched by all hands.
For half an hour Rollings lay on the bed, his eyes closed, as though asleep. Occasionally he twitched, or made some slight movement. That was all. The deputy seated opposite began to find the situation a dull one. At last the prisoner half sat up, to take off his shoes.
"My feet are burning," he complained, as he dropped the shoes at the foot of the bed, then sank back on the pillow.
"You're nervous; that's why your feet trouble you," observed the deputy, with a knowing smile.