"There is a stool in with me, fellows! He's Ignatius Irvine! Watch out
what you say!"

The outburst of imprecations that went up would have shaken the fortitude
of a braver man than Ignatius Irvine. He was pitiful in his terror,
while all about him, roaring like beasts, the pain-racked lifers told him
what awful things they would do to him in the years that were to come.

Had there been secrets, the presence of a stool in the dungeons would
have kept the men quiet, As it was, having all sworn to tell the truth,
they talked openly before Ignatius Irvine. The one great puzzle was the
dynamite, of which they were as much in the dark as was I. They appealed
to me. If I knew anything about the dynamite they begged me to confess
it and save them all from further misery. And I could tell them only the
truth, that I knew of no dynamite.

One thing the stool told me, before the guards removed him, showed how
serious was this matter of the dynamite. Of course, I passed the word
along, which was that not a wheel had turned in the prison all day. The
thousands of convict-workers had remained locked in their cells, and the
outlook was that not one of the various prison-factories would be
operated again until after the discovery of some dynamite that somebody
had hidden somewhere in the prison.

And ever the examination went on. Ever, one at a time, convicts were
dragged away and dragged or carried back again. They reported that
Warden Atherton and Captain Jamie, exhausted by their efforts, relieved
each other every two hours. While one slept, the other examined. And
they slept in their clothes in the very room in which strong man after