Dillon and Mandell and Squeak spoke only of proving an alibi; they said that Gibbs would arrange this for them. This disheartened Marriott, confirmed his belief in their guilt, and he shrank from placing on the stand the witnesses Gibbs would supply. And then, one afternoon at the jail, a strange experience befell him. Mason was looking at him, his face pressed against the bars; he fixed his eyes on him, and, speaking slowly, with his peculiar habit of moistening his lips and swallowing between his words, he said: "You think I’m guilty of this, Mr. Marriott." Marriott tried to smile, and tried to protest, but his looks must have belied him. "I know you do," Mason went on, "but I’m not, Mr. Marriott. I’ve done time--lots of it, but they’ve got me wrong now. These inspectors will lie, of course, but I can prove an alibi. What night was the job done?" "The twelfth," said Marriott. "That was Saturday, wasn’t it?" "Yes." "Well, that night I was in Gibbs’s. There was a mob of sure-thing men in there that night--Ed Dean and the Rat and some others--Gibbs will tell you. I can’t subpoena them--they couldn’t help; nobody would believe them, and they dassen’t show, anyway." "Are they--" Marriott felt a delicacy in saying the word. "Thieves?" said Mason. "Yes--you see how it is." "Of course," said Marriott. "But," Mason went on, "there was a fellow in there--I don’t know his name--a reporter; he put a piece in his paper the next day about Dean. Dean was kidding him--Gibbs can tell you. I wish you’d see him--he’ll remember me, and he can fix the time by that piece he wrote." Mason paused. "I’ve done nearly twenty years, Mr. Marriott," he said presently. "That was all right; they done that on the square; this is the first time they ever had me in wrong. Dillon was with me every time--we worked together--that’ll go against me. And them inspectors don’t care--they’d just as soon job a fellow as not. All I ask now is a fair show. But those United States courts are a fierce game to put a man up against." While Mason was talking a great wave of sympathy swept over Marriott; a conviction came to him that Mason was telling the truth. "But," he said as the thought came to him, "can’t Dillon and the others help you?" "Well," Mason hesitated. "They’ve got themselves to look after. I’d rather fall myself than to throw them down. You see Gibbs about that reporter."