that I might
get him into trouble, but when he became convinced that I would do
nothing of the kind he consented. I had a warder in the prison who in
consideration of an occasional tip used to act as my postman, sending my
letters to my friends and bringing in theirs to me. This was a deadly
offense against the rules, but as the permitted correspondence was
outrageously limited I saw no reason why I should deprive myself of
letters when I had the chance to have them, and as I took good care that
the great men in London should get no inkling of my misdeeds I dare say
their hearts did not grieve after what their eyes did not see.

CHAPTER XLVIII.

HE TELEGRAPHED THE NEWS TO MY WARDER, AND BARTON WENT ON HIS WAY
REJOICING.

My warder friend supplied me with writing materials. I prepared one
letter, which I had him copy, and another in my own handwriting. Both
were directed to Barton, and informed him that his rich uncle had lately
died and had left him one hundred and sixty thousand pounds in money and
sixteen thousand acres of cotton land in India. He was also informed
that his father had gone to India to look after the property, and that
upon his return a petition would be presented to the Home Secretary, who
it was hoped would grant his release. These two letters my warder sent
to a friend of mine in London with a note from me requesting him to post
them immediately. I told Barton what I had done, at the same time
cautioning him to guard the closest secrecy. Two days afterward the
letters arrived, and I directed my protege to spread the news as much as
possible, to tell all the warders he saw and to show them his letters.
We had at that time in the prison a wideawake but tricky fellow named
George Smith. He had been clerk to an important firm of auctioneers in
London, and had been sentenced by probably the most savage judge on the
bench, Commissioner Ker, to fourteen years' imprisonment for receiving a
quantity of stolen silverware, which he had his employers sell for him.
He was about to be released, and I determined to make use of him, but
without letting him know the truth, for I knew that if he suspected he
was merely doing a good turn for the chum he left behind him, he, like
the Home Secretary himself, without the right kind of inducement would
have left his friend to stop where he was until the bottomless pit was
frozen over hard enough to hold a barbecue on it. Barton, by my
directions, told Smith of