It occurred to him at once that an exchange of coats would be to his advantage, and he proceeded at once to make the exchange, stripping off the unconscious man’s coat, and putting his own halfway on in place of it. The reason for this may be easily guessed. The gray coats—for stripes are no longer in vogue in New York State—bore each man’s prison number, and, therefore, by such a simple exchange, identities could be shifted temporarily. Gordon’s number was 39,470, and, of course, it was known to all the keepers and prisoners as standing for the identity of the formidable Green Eye. The other man’s number, on the other hand, had no particular significance, for the yegg was an ordinary criminal, of comparatively little intelligence, who had not made himself conspicuous in any way, either in or out of the prison. Consequently, if there should prove to be later on any reason to believe that Libby was missing, his absence would not be likely to cause any great commotion, for it would be taken for granted that his capture was only a question of time. Gordon had reasoned shrewdly, as usual, and had thus, by his own promptness and resourcefulness, put himself in the way of the luck that subsequently favored him. He had feigned an injury, and had thrown himself down in the prison courtyard, after taking care to stagger close to the main gates, and a shadow of the projecting section of the wall. There he was ignored, for the flames in the burning wing were mounting higher and higher, and all the men were not yet out of it. It was some minutes before Green Eye’s chance had come, but it did come, as he had felt sure it would. One of the guards rushed past him and approached a small door at one side of the big, double gates. Evidently the man had been sent on some important errand, which would take him outside the prison walls. The keeper looked behind him with a wary eye to make sure that he was not followed. He had fears of a general break for liberty, but apparently no one was paying any attention to him. Therefore he excitedly inserted a key in the lock, and, after some fumbling, opened the door. It was then that Gordon had pounced upon him. One blow had been enough. It caught the unfortunate guard behind the ear and sent him hurtling through the opening. In a moment the convict had followed. Gordon dashed across the road before the vanguard of the crowd from the town had reached the spot, and, dodging through the extensive lumber yard, made his way to the outskirts of Dannemora, his goal being a certain tumble-down, abandoned house. There he found what he sought—a moisture-proof box of considerable size, containing a complete outfit of clothing, an automatic of the latest model, and no less than five hundred dollars in gold. We have hinted that Ernest Gordon was no ordinary criminal, and the truth of that has doubtless begun to shine through this narrative. Here, at any rate, is striking evidence of it.