The evidence of the forgery was unmistakable, and the agent of the company detecting it, at once had the man arrested.
These two arrests were almost coincident; their hearing at the preliminary examination took place at the same session of the court, and as each of them waived a hearing and were unable to procure bail, they were both consigned to the jail to await their trial at the next sitting of the general court.
As a general thing there seems to be a sort of community of interest or fraternity of feeling existing between prisoners during their confinement.

At certain hours in the day, in many places of imprisonment, the authorities permit the prisoners to leave their cells and to take exercise in the corridors.

At such times they mingle together indiscriminately and indulge in general conversation, and many interesting episodes could be gathered from their recitals of the various scenes through which they have passed during their vicarious life, and the experiences thus related would tend to prove, beyond question, that the imagination of the romancer falls far short of the actual realities of life.
Many wild and seemingly extravagant stories are related, which fill the listener with incredulity, but which, upon inquiry, are usually found to be but truthful relations of actual occurrences.
But in this jail at Bridgeport there was one person, who, upon finding himself a prisoner, held himself aloof from the rest, declining to make any acquaintances or to engender any friendships, and this person was the quiet-looking man who had been arrested by the express company, and whose name was ascertained to be Edward Sommers.

He studiously avoided his fellow-prisoners and maintained a degree of reserve which repelled their advances and at once induced their respect.
Thomas Brown, the black-haired, false pretender, however, immediately placed himself on friendly terms with every one within reach, and his merry stories were fully appreciated by the residents of the correctional institution in which they found themselves thrown together.
But how fared William Bucholz during the days that had intervened since his incarceration?
His mind, it is true, had grown calmer since the first paroxysm of his grief had spent itself, and he had composed himself sufficiently to look the future hopefully in the face.

As day after day was passed in the seclusion of his cell, he had grown reconciled to a certain extent to the existing state of affairs, but he still looked forward anxiously to the day which was to deliver him from the enclosing walls that restrained him of his liberty.
He was moody and silent, and his mind was much disturbed.