he had spent
his time in reading and smoking. He had answered questions with only a
curt yes or no when he deigned to answer them at all; and there had been
no callers or inquiries for him. He had abruptly declined a suggestion
of counsel.

Twice each day, morning and night, he had asked a question of the
jailer who brought his simple meals.

"How is Senor Alvarez?"

"He is still in a critical condition." The answer was always the same.

Whereupon the secret agent would return to his reading with not a shadow
of uneasiness or concern on his face.

Occasionally there came a courteous little note from Miss Thorne, which
he read without emotion, afterward casting them aside or tearing them
up. He never answered them. And then one day there came another note
which, for no apparent reason, seemed to stir him from his lethargy.
Outwardly it was like all the others, but when Signor Petrozinni scanned
the sheet his eyes lighted strangely, and he stood staring down at it as
though to hide a sudden change of expression in his face. His gaze was
concentrated on two small splotches of ink where, it seemed, the pen
had scratched as Miss Thorne signed her name.

The guard stood at the barred door for a moment, then started to turn
away. The prisoner stopped him with a quick gesture.

"Oh, Guard, may I have a glass of milk, please?" he asked. "No ice. I
prefer it tepid."

He thrust a small coin between the bars; the guard accepted it and
passed on. Then, still standing at the door, the prisoner read the note
again:

"MY DEAR FRIEND:

"I understand, from an indirect source, that there has been a marked
improvement in Senor Alvarez's condition, and I am hastening to send you
the good news. There is every hope that within a short while, if he
continues to improve, we can arrange a bail bond, and you will be free
until the time of trial anyway.

"Might it not be well for you to consult an attorney at once? Drop me a
line to let me know you received this.

"Sincerely,

"ISABEL THORNE."

Finally the prisoner tossed the note on a tiny table in a corner of his
cell, and resumed his reading. After a time the guard returned with the
milk.

"Would it be against the rules for me to write an answer to this?"
queried Signor Petrozinni, and he indicated the note.

"Certainly not," was the reply.

"If I might trouble you, then, for pen and ink and paper?" suggested the
signor and he smiled a little. "Believe me, I would prefer