Shocked  beyond  measure,  yet  with  an  eye  to  color  and  to
the  zest  of  the  public  for  picturesque  details,  I  examined  the
three  rooms  with  care,  the  officer  in  the  house  following  me.
Together  we  looked  at  the  utensils  in  the  kitchen,  what  was  in
the  cupboard  to  eat,  what  in  the  closet  to  wear.  I  made  notes
of  the  contents  of  the  rooms,  their  cheapness,  then  went  to
the  neighbors  on  either  hand  to  learn  if  they  had  heard  any-
thing. Then  in  a  stray  owl-car,  no  carriages  being  available,
I  hurried  to  the  Four  Courts,  several  miles  cityward,  to  see
the  criminal.  I  found  him,  old,  pale,  sick,  thin,  walking  up
and  down  in  his  small  iron  cell,  plainly  out  of  his  mind,  a
picture  of  hopeless,  unconscious  misery.  His  hands  trembled
idly  about  his  mouth ;  his  shabby  trousers  bagged  about  his
shoes;  he  was  unshaven  and  weak-looking,  and  all  the  while
he  mumbled  to  himself  some  unintelligible  sounds.  I  tried
to  talk  with  him  but  could  get  nothing.  He  seemed  not
even  to  know  that  I  was  there,  so  brain-sick  was  he.  Then  I
questioned  the  jail  attendants,  those  dull  wiseacres  of  the
law.  Had  he  talked?  Did  they  think  he  was  sane?  With
the  usual  acumen  and  delicacy  of  this  tribe,  they  were  inclined
to  think  he  was  shamming.
