Peace was particularly struck with the emaciated man who sat in the corner, and who every now and then offered some observation as the gipsy shadowed forth his career. He would have liked to learn something of his history, and indeed it was understood that he was to be the next speaker. “Get on with your biography,” said the man in the corner. “I’ve not much more to tell,” returned the gipsy. Let’s see, where was I? “Oh, I was down at low-water mark, and didn’t know how to get on. One cold, dark, rainy, boisterous night, the whole of which I had passed in the streets penniless and hungry, drove me almost to desperation. It had often come into my head to knock down and rob the first person I met, but every crime requires a beginning before it can be done with ease and firmness.” “True,” ejaculated the man in the corner, “I know it well. If Jem Dempster had put you on to poisoning the trough at starting you would have backed out; but he first put you on to hocussing, and you soon came to the poison like an old un in the trade.” “Cease moralising,” called out several of the auditory. “The morning was dimming the already dimmed lamps when at the corner of Park-lane I saw a chap who had been in the stables with me. “He recognised me and spoke a few words of comfort after I had told him my story; he did more than this――he lent me a little ready cash. He informed me that he was in a good situation, being groom to a gentleman in North Audley-street. He was a right good sort and stood by me like a brick, helping me in every way he possibly could during the time I was out of collar. “Well, to cut along story short, after this I became an ’oss dealer, in which honourable profession I remained, till one night a cunning ’oss coaxed me to put the saddle on his back, and would not be satisfied till I got into it: when he rode away with me――for which they put me in quod instead of the ’oss. “Now, my old ourang-outang,” said the gipsy, addressing himself to the emaciated man, “let us have an account of your times when you were in the land of the living.” “I had thought,” responded the prisoner addressed, “that I had some weeks since achieved a victory over memory and buried all recollections of the past. I had shut myself wholly in passive resignation to the future without suffering myself to revert to the bygone events of my life, the frequent reference to which had previously worn me to the object you now behold. But that man,” pointing to the gipsy, “has broken down the barrier within which I had taken shelter. He has, in a few words, informed me of the causes of my ruin. His villainies have brought me here. “The family of which I am an unworthy member was more distinguished for its ancestors than for its possessions.” The speaker had got thus far when the ponderous lock of the door was turned, and a police sergeant and two constables, accompanied by a prison warder, entered. “Now then, prisoners, this way,” said the sergeant.