The streets were quiet--indeed almost deserted. There were no children playing on the common. A crowd was coming out of one of the churches. In the midst of it the prisoner saw Preston and Lady Hare. They were so near that he could have touched them with his hand as he passed. They did not see him. He noted the name of the church and its minister. In a few minutes he was delivered at the jail--a noisome, ill-smelling, badly ventilated place. The jailer was a tall, slim, sallow man with a thin gray beard. His face and form were familiar. He heard Jack's name with a look of great astonishment. Then the young man recognized him. He was Mr. Eliphalet Pinhorn, who had so distinguished himself on the stage trip to Philadelphia some years before. "It is a long time since we met," said Jack. Mr. Pinhorn's face seemed to lengthen. His mouth and eyes opened wide in a silent demand for information. Jack reminded him of the day and circumstances. For a moment Mr. Pinhorn held his hand against his forehead and was dumb with astonishment. Then he said: "I knew! I foresaw! But it is not too late." "Too late for what?" "To turn, to be redeemed, loved, forgiven. Think it over, sir. Think it over." Jack's name and age and residence were registered. Then Pinhorn took his arm and walked with him down the corridor toward an open door. About half-way to the door he stopped and put his hand on Jack's shoulder and said with a look of great seriousness: "A sinking cause! Death! Destruction! Misery! The ship is going down. Leave it." "You are misinformed. There is no leak in our ship," said Jack. Mr. Pinhorn shut his eyes and shook his head mournfully. Then, with a wave of his hand, he pronounced the doom of the western world in one whispered word: "Ashes!" For a moment his face and form were alive with exclamatory suggestion. Then he shook his head and said: "Doomed! Poor soul! Go out in the yard with your fellow rebels. They are taking the air." The yard was an opening walled in by the main structure and its two wings and a wooden fence some fifteen feet high. There was a ragged, dirty rabble of "rebel" prisoners, among whom was Solomon Binkus, all out for an airing. The old scout had lost flesh and color. He held Jack's hand and stood for a moment without speaking. "I never was so glad and so sorry in my life," said Solomon. "It's a hell-mogrified place to be in. Smells like a blasted whale an' is as cold as the north side of a grave stun on a Janooary night, an' starvation fare, an' they's a man here that's come down with the smallpox. How'd ye git ketched?" Jack briefly told of his capture.