The murderer, looking out, saw his other pal led in
a prisoner. He looked at Byrnes. The Chief nodded:--
"Squealed, both."
It was a lie, and it cost the man his life. "The jig is up then,"
he said, and told the story that brought him to the gallows.
I could not let Byrnes go without a word, for he filled a large
space in my life. It is the reporter, I suppose, who sticks out
there. The boys called him a great faker, but they were hardly
just to him in that. I should rather call him a great actor, and
without being that no man can be a great detective. He made life
in a mean street picturesque while he was there, and for that
something is due him. He was the very opposite of Roosevelt--quite
without moral purpose or the comprehension of it, yet with a streak
of kindness in him that sometimes put preaching to shame. Mulberry
Street swears by him to-day, even as it does, under its breath,
by Roosevelt. Decide from that for yourself whether his presence
there was for the good or the bad.
In writing "How the Other Half Lives" I had been at great pains
not to overstate my case.
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