replied the keeper.

"Isn't it dreadful?" she murmured.

"Not at all," he exclaimed cheerfully. "These prisoners fare better in
prison than they do outside. I wager some of them are sorry to leave."

"But it's dreadful to be cooped up in those little cells, isn't it?" she
said.

"Not so bad as it looks," he laughed. "They are allowed to come out in
the corridor to exercise twice a day for an hour and there is a splendid
shower bath they can take."

"Where is my husband's cell?" she whispered, almost dreading to hear the
reply.

"There it is," he said, pointing to a door. "No. 456."

Walking rapidly ahead of her and stopping at one of the cell doors, he
rapped loudly on the iron grating and cried:

"Jeffries, here's a lady come to see you. Wake up there!"

A white, drawn face approached the grating. Annie sprang forward.

"Howard!" she sobbed.

"Is it you, Annie?" came a weak voice through the bars.

"Can't I go in to him?" she asked pleadingly.

The keeper shook his head.

"No, m'm, you must talk through the bars, but I won't disturb you."

He walked away and the husband and wife were left facing each other. The
tears were streaming down Annie's cheeks. It was dreadful to be standing
there so close and yet not be able to throw her arms around him. Her
heart ached as she saw the distress in his wan, pale face.

"Why didn't you come before?" he asked.

"I could not. They wouldn't let me. Oh, Howard," she gasped. "What a
dreadful thing this is! Tell me how you got into such a scrape!"

He put his hand to his head as if it hurt him, and she noticed that his
eyes looked queer. For a moment the agony of a terrible suspicion
crossed her mind. Was it possible that in a moment of drunken
recklessness he had shot Underwood? Quickly, almost breathlessly, she
whispered to him:

"Tell me quickly, 'tis not true, is it? You did not kill Robert
Underwood."

He shook his head.

"No," he said.

"Thank God for that!" she exclaimed. "But your confession--what does
that mean?"

"I do not know. They told me I did it. They insisted I did it. He was
sure I did it. He told me he knew I did it. He showed me the pistol. He
was so insistent that I thought he was right--that I had done it." In a
deep whisper he added earnestly, "But you know I didn't, don't you?"

"Who is _he_?" demanded Annie.

"The police captain."

"Oh, Captain Clinton told you you did it?"

Howard nodded.

"Yes, he told me he _knew_ I did i