“Well!”
It is Mr. Wedron, of the New York Bar, who utters this monosyllable. He sits at the library table in the little lawyer’s sanctum; opposite him is his host, and a little farther away, stands Ray Vandyck; a living, breathing, gloomy faced but mute interrogation point. He has just been introduced to Mr. Wedron, and he is anxiously waiting to hear how these two men propose to save from the gallows, a man who will make no effort to save himself.
“Well!” repeats Mr. Wedron, “you have seen the prisoner?”
“We have seen him.”
“And the result?”
“Was what you predicted. See, here in my note book, I have his very words; you can judge for yourself.”
O’Meara passes his note book across to his questioner, and the latter reads rapidly, the short sentences scrawled by his host.
“So,” he says
