It appeared that my other acquaintance Mr. File had been guilty of a cold-blooded and long-premeditated murder, for which he had been tried and convicted. He now lay in jail awaiting his execution, which was to take place at Carsonville, Ohio. It seemed that with Stagers and others he had formed a band of expert counterfeiters in the West. Their business lay in the manufacture of South American currencies. File had thus acquired a fortune so considerable that I was amazed at his having allowed his passion to seduce him into unprofitable crime. In his agony he unfortunately thought of me, and had bribed Stagers largely in order that he might be induced to find me. When the narration had reached this stage, and I had been made fully to understand that I was now and hereafter under the sharp eye of Stagers and his friends, that, in a word, escape was out of the question, I turned on my tormentor. “What does all this mean?” I said. “What does File expect me to do?” “Don’t believe he exactly knows,” said Stagers. “Something or other to get him clear of hemp.” “But what stuff!” I replied. “How can I help him? What possible influence could I exert?” “Can’t say,” answered Stagers, imperturbably. “File has a notion you’re ‘most cunning enough for anything. Best try something, doc.” “And what if I won’t do it?” said I. “What does it matter to me if the rascal swings or no?” “Keep cool, doc,” returned Stagers. “I’m only agent in this here business. My principal, that’s File, he says: ‘Tell Sanderaft to find some way to get me clear. Once out, I give him ten thousand dollars. If he don’t turn up something that will suit, I’ll blow about that coroner business and Lou Wilson, and break him up generally.’” “You don’t mean,” said I, in a cold sweat--“you don’t mean that, if I can’t do this impossible thing, he will inform on me?” “Just so,” returned Stagers. “Got a cigar, doc?” I only half heard him. What a frightful position! I had been leading a happy and an increasingly profitable life--no scrapes and no dangers; and here, on a sudden, I had presented to me the alternative of saving a wretch from the gallows or of spending unlimited years in a State penitentiary. As for the money, it became as dead leaves for this once only in my life. My brain seemed to be spinning round. I grew weak all over. “Cheer up a little,” said Stagers. “Take a nip of whisky. Things ain’t at the worst, by a good bit. You just get ready, and we’ll start by the morning train. Guess you’ll try out something smart enough as we travel along. Ain’t got a heap of time to lose.” I was silent. A great anguish had me in its grip. I might squirm as I would, it was all in vain. Hideous plans rose to my mind, born of this agony of terror. I might murder Stagers, but what good would that do? As to File, he was safe from my hand. At last I became too confused to think any longer. “When do we leave?” I said feebly. “At six to-morrow,” he returned.