There was something very eerie in the performance of the strange old man with the queerly-working face, and more than one hardened criminal present shivered a little. Connor broke the silence that fell on the room. “So that’s how it was done, eh? One held you in conversation while the other got upstairs and hid himself? Well, boys, you’ve heard the old man. What d’ye say?” Vinnis shifted in his seat and turned his great unemotional face to where the old man stood, still fumbling with his hat and muttering to himself beneath his breath; in some strange region whither his poor wandering mind had taken him he was holding a conversation with an imaginary person. Connor could see his eyebrows working, and caught scraps of sentences, now in some strange dead tongue, now in the stilted English of the schoolmaster. It was Vinnis who spoke for the assembled company. “The old man knows a darned sight too much,” he said in his level tone. “I’m for----” He did not finish his sentence. Connor took a swift survey of the men. “If there is any man here,” he said slowly, “who wants to wake up at seven o’clock in the morning and meet a gentleman who will strap his hands behind him and a person who will pray over him--if there’s any man here that wants a short walk after breakfast between two lines of warders to a little shed where a brand new rope is hanging from the roof, he’s at liberty to do what he likes with old George, but not in this house.” He fixed his eyes on Vinnis. “And if there’s any man here,” he went on, “who’s already in the shadow of the rope, so that one or two murders more won’t make much difference one way or the other, he can do as he likes--outside this house.” Vinnis shrank back. “There’s nothing against me,” he growled. “The rope,” muttered the old man, “Vinnis for the rope,” he chuckled to himself. “I fear they counted too implicitly upon the fact that I am not always quite myself--Vinnis----” The man he spoke of sprang to his feet with a snarl like a trapped beast. “Sit down--you.” Bat Sands, with his red head close-cropped, thrust his chair in the direction of the infuriated Vinnis. “What Connor says is true--we’re not going to croak the old man, and we’re not going to croak ourselves. If we hang, it will be something worth hanging for. As to the old man, he’s soft, an’ that’s all you can say. He’s got to be kept close----” A rap at the door cut him short. “Who’s that?” he whispered. Connor tiptoed to the locked door. “Who’s there?” he demanded. A familiar voice reassured him, and he opened the door and held a conversation in a low voice with somebody outside. “There’s a man who wants to see me,” he said in explanation. “Lock the door after I leave, Bat,” and he went out quickly. Not a word was spoken, but each after his own fashion of reasoning drew some conclusion from Connor’s hasty departure. “A full meetin’,” croaked a voice from the back of the room. “We’re all asked here by Connor. Is it a plant?”