Are you, indeed?" exclaimed Maroney. "I am delighted to hear it;" but
his voice sank. It seemed as if he wanted White out, so that he could
help him, but was afraid to trust him. He turned and walked away, came
back, and again congratulated White. White assured him that he was going
in the morning. "So soon?" remarked Maroney; "well, I am happy to find
you are. I don't want to see any man kept in jail. My own case will soon
come up, and after I am cleared here, the trial in Montgomery will be a
perfect farce. I shall write to my wife and tell her how well you have
succeeded. Isn't it strange, White, that I have taken such a liking to
you? You are the right man for me. There is not a soul in this jail but
you whom I would trust." He walked into his cell and wrote a letter to
his wife. Several times he came out and conversed with White. He seemed
to have something on his mind which he wished to disclose, but lacked
the courage to do so. He finally backed down entirely, and concluded to
wait. He played several games of cards with White and the other
prisoners, and then conversed with Shanks, who came to remove some of
White's baggage. He found that White had taken a room on Bleeker street,
and the moving of his effects showed how near at hand was the moment of
his departure.

The next day was an eventful one, and clearly proved the soundness of my
theory. After breakfast Maroney took White's arm, and walked around the
hall several times with him, his manner plainly showing that he was very
much embarrassed. He finally drew him into a quiet corner opposite to
where the prisoners were congregated playing cards and amusing
themselves in various ways. "White," said Maroney, "I am going to
entrust to you my secret. I feel that I can trust you; I know I can. I
have watched you closely, and find that you are true as steel. Now
listen: I have invited you to take hold of my matters, and in order to
give you a clear understanding of my case, it becomes necessary for me
to divulge to you what at present is known only to my wife and myself.
It is useless for me to ask, but still I wish you to give me your solemn
promise to keep my secret inviolate."

"Oh, yes, I'll do that," said White, "but I have got a good deal of
business of my own to attend to, and if you think you can't trust me,
you had better keep it to yourself."

"No, no, nothing of the kind! I know I can trust you!" said Maroney,
"and you have given the promise. Now, Whit