"Mr. Gilman," he said, "I see what you're getting at. I have told you I did not commit the crime for which I am here. For that matter, any of the three thousand other prisoners within these walls and wearing these clothes will tell you the same thing. I don't know whether you believe me or not. It doesn't make much difference. It doesn't matter what becomes of me any more. I ain't long for this world. So just let it drop—what's the use of opening it up again?"
"But you haven't answered my question," said Gilman, interested in spite of himself, for a great fear was growing up within him; "you have not told me who did kill Brokoski."
The convict lifted his eyelids slowly, and fastened his vision upon his interlocutor. And then he said very deliberately and distinctly:
"No, Mr. Gilman, and I never will!"
Gilman left the penitentiary with more than its gloom upon him. He declined the warden's effusive invitation to stay to dinner. He wanted to get away. He could not forget the shine in Whalen's eyes. And the fear within possessed him.
When he reached the city, after dining at the chop
