"Yes," I said, "and as I am the executor of his will, I will see that a good lawyer is retained for you."
He made no answer, and I added: "If you need anything, let me know and I will attend to it for you."
"I shall not need anything," he replied, "but won't you come and see me sometimes?—I am lonely."
I promised to do so, and feeling that nothing more could be done for him then, closed the melancholy interview by recalling the warden for his prisoner.
I shook hands with him upon leaving, and as I reached the door was glad to see Miles, as he followed me, do the same. Winters kept his eyes fastened on me alone, however, and they had in them a child's look of trust and dependence. Truly I had assumed a sad and heavy burden.
As the great doors and gates closed in turn behind us with a thud and thang and we stood in the bright sunshine once more and amid the busy throng of the streets, I drew a long breath of relief, but my heart ached for the lonely man behind those prison walls.
Neither Miles nor myself had much to say for awhile as we took our way back toward our own section, but finally I broke the silence by asking him how he was impressed with Winters's statement. He replied:
"It won't acquit him unsupported, but I think he told the truth."
"What are we to do about his case then," I asked. "Certainly you do not intend to continue your search for evidence against him?"
"No," he answered, "it is not necessary that I should do that. I will do what I can to get more information about the case generally, which, if he is innocent, can only help him."