The Prison Yard

They passed down a gloomy corridor and entered a lofty room high up on the third floor of the station. Two spacious windows gave them a fine view of the yard below with all its gregarious misery. There was a table here covered by a green baize cloth, and an officer in uniform writing at it. He stood and saluted Zaniloff with a gravity fine to see. The Chief, in turn, nodded to him and drew a chair to the table. When he had found ink and paper he began the interrogation which should help his dossier.

"You are an Englishman and your age is"--he waited and turned to Alban.

"My age is just about twenty-one."

"You were born in England?"

"In London; I was born in London."

"And you now live?"

"With Mr. Richard Gessner at Hampstead."

So it went--interminable question and answer, of the most trivial kind. It seemed an age before they came to the vital issue.

"And what do you know of this crime which has been committed?"

"I know nothing--how could I know anything."

"Pardon me, you were yesterday in company of the girl who is charged with its commission."

"The charge is absurd--I am sure of it."

"We shall decide that for ourselves. You visited her upon the barge of the German merchant, Petermann. He is now in custody and has confessed as much. What did she say to you when you were alone with her?"