ill. He recognized me with evident pleasure, but showed little interest

in Littell even after I had explained the occasion of his visit.

"It is no use," he said, "I can see by the papers that everybody thinks I am guilty."

"But I don't!" said Littell promptly. "I feel sure you are not guilty and that is why I am going to defend you."

The strong confident tones of Littell acted like a tonic on the man. He braced up and seemed to shake off much of his despondency.

"And you have read all about it too?" he asked.

"Yes," Littell said, "and I am here now to hear the truth about it from you, so tell me everything."

Winters then repeated carefully his whole story as he had told it to me. It differed in no particular from the previous recital, and satisfied me more than ever of his innocence.

Littell listened closely and when he had finished asked him, in a conversational way, many questions about details; questions that seemed natural and innocent in themselves, and which were promptly and freely answered, but questions that, I felt, would have confounded and tripped up a guilty man or an untruthful one.

When the interview was concluded and we were on our way uptown, Littell said to me:

"That man is starving for hope and sympathy, for freedom and sunlight. He is innocent, too, Dick! and we must save him."

I concurred heartily in his opinion; "And what further can I do to help you?" I asked.

"Nothing more just now, I think," he answered. "There is too little time left for you to take up any new lines of investigation. We will devote ourselves to thoroughly digesting and mastering the facts we have so that we may make the most of them at the trial."

I assented, and with my arm locked in his we walked the rest of our way engaged in earnest discussion of the defence.