Of Jim Brewer's story he knew nothing, for newspapers did not come his way, and none of the prison officials had the kindness to tell him. So he waited and wondered as the slow days crept painfully past, and grew thin and hollow-eyed, and wished that he had never been born.
The end came nearly a month after Jim Brewer had told his story. He was condescendingly informed one morning that his innocence having been clearly established, the Crown would offer no evidence in support of the charge, and the Grand Jury had therefore thrown out the bill of indictment. This would mean his immediate liberation.
For several moments he felt unable to speak, and he sat down and hid his face in his hands. Then slowly the meaning of the words he had listened to began to take shape in his mind.
"You say my innocence has been established?" he questioned at length.
"That is so."
"By what means?"
The governor told him without unnecessary words.
"How long ago was this?"
"I do not quite know. Not many weeks I think."
"Not many weeks! Good heavens! You mean that I have been allowed to suffer in this inferno after my innocence was established?"