want to leave
them, particularly in this way, but it is on your account, more than on
my own, that I have come here to-night to ask you to tell the whole
truth about this matter and go from this place a free man."

"To do that I must become an informer, the result of which would be to
put another in my place. No, I can't do that; I've nothing to do at
present and I might as well remain here."

"And let your old friend here be discharged, if not disgraced?" asked
Mrs. Cowels.

"No, that must not be," said Moran, and he was then silent for a moment
as if trying to work out a scheme to prevent that disaster to his
much-loved superior. "You must let me think it over," he said,
presently. "Let me think it over to-night."

"And let the guilty one escape," Mrs. Cowels added.

"Some people seem to think," said Moran, with just a faint attempt at a
smile, "that the guilty one is quite secure."

"Don't talk nonsense, Dan," she said, "you know I believe you."

"And you, my friend?" he said as he extended his hand to the official.

"You know what I believe," said the visitor; "and now good-night--I
shall see you again soon."

"I hope so," said Dan. "It is indeed very good of you to call, and of
you, too," he added, as he turned to his fairer visitor. "I shall not
forget your kindness to me, and only hope that I may be of some help to
you in some way, and do something to show my appreciation of this visit
and of your friendship. But," he added, glancing about him, "one can't
be of much use to his friends shut up in a hole like this."

"You can do me a great favor, even while in prison," she said.

"Only say what it is and I shall try."

"Tell us who put the dynamite on Blackwings."

"I shall try," he said, "only let me have time to think what is best to
do."

"What is right is what is best to do," said Mrs. Cowels, holding out her
hand--"Good-night."

"Good-night," said the prisoner, "come again when you can, both of you."
And the two visitors passed out into the clear, cold night, and when the
prisoner had seen them disappear he turned to his little friend, the
book.

CHAPTER FOURTEENTH

"Mr. Scouping of _The London Times_ would like to see you for a few
minutes," said the jailor.

"I don't care to see any newspaper man," said Moran, closing his book.

"I knew that," said the jailor, "but this man is a personal friend of
mine and in all the world there is not his equal in his chosen
profession, and