So much for the story as an illustration of the mediæval character of some of our Sicilian immigrants. For the satisfaction of the reader’s taste for the romantic and picturesque it should be added, however, that the matter did not end here. The convict, having served several years, found that the photographer’s assistant was not keeping his part of the contract, as a result of which the assassin’s wife and children were suffering for lack of food and clothing. He made repeated but fruitless attempts to compel the party of the first part to pay up, and finally, in despair, wrote to the District Attorney of New York County that he could, if he would, a tale unfold that would harrow up almost anybody’s soul. Mr. Jerome therefore, on the gamble of getting something worth while, sent Detective Russo to Auburn to interview the prisoner. That is how the whole story came to be known. The case was put in the writer’s hands, and an indictment for the very unusual crime of attempted murder (there are only one or two such cases on record in New York State) was speedily found against the photographer’s assistant. At the trial the lover saw his mistress compelled to turn State’s evidence against him to save herself. She testified to the Christmas carols and the cyanide of mercury. “Did you ever remove this terrible poison from the bolster?” demanded the defendant’s counsel in a sneering tone. “No,” answered the woman. “Have you ever changed the bolster?” he persisted. “No.” “Then it’s there yet?” “I—I think so,” falteringly. “I demand that this incredible yarn be investigated!” cried the lawyer. “I ask that the court send for the bolster and cut it open here in the presence of the jury.” The writer had no choice but to accede to this request, and the bolster was hunted down and brought into court. With some anxiety both sides watched while the lining was slit with a penknife. A few feathers fluttered to the floor as the fingers of the witness felt inside and came in contact with _the poison_. The assistant was convicted of attempted murder on the convict’s testimony, and sentenced to Sing Sing for twenty-five years. That was the end of the second lesson. About a month afterward the defendant’s counsel made a motion for a new trial on the ground that the convict now admitted his testimony to have been wholly false, and produced an affidavit from the assassin to that effect. Naturally so startling an allegation demanded investigation. Yes, insisted the “bravo,” it was all made up, a “camorra”—not a word of truth in it, and he had invented the whole thing in order to get a vacation from State prison and a free ride to New York. However, the court denied the motion. The writer procured a new indictment against the assassin—this time for perjury—and he was sentenced to another additional term in prison. What induced this sudden and extraordinary change of mind on his part can only be surmised.