She had lifted her skirts a little; the floor seemed to her unclean. The odor of disinfectants, which, strong as it was, could not overpower the other odors it was intended to annihilate, came strongly to her. Through the bars she had a glimpse of high whitewashed walls, pierced near the top with narrow windows dirty beyond all hope. On the other side was a row of cells, their barred doors now swinging open. Along the wall miserable figures were stretched on a bench. Far back, where the prison grew dark as night, other figures slouched, and she saw strange, haggard faces peering curiously at her out of the gloom. "Hello, Gusta," Archie said. She felt that she should take his hand, but she disliked to thrust it through the bars. Still she did so. In slipping her hand through to take Archie’s hand it touched the iron, which was cold and soft as if with some foul grease. "Oh, Archie," she said, "what has happened?" "Search me," he said, "I don’t know what I’m here for. Ask Detective Kouka there. He run me in." Gusta turned. The black-visaged man was standing beside her. Archie glared at the detective in open hatred, and Kouka sneered but controlled himself, and looked away as if, after all, he were far above such things. Then they were silent, for Gusta could not speak. "How did you hear of the pinch?" asked Archie presently. "Mrs. Schopfle was in--she told us," replied Gusta. "What did the old man say?" "Oh, Archie! He’s awful mad!" Archie hung his head and meditatively fitted the toe of his boot into one of the squares made by the crossed bars at the bottom of the door. "Say, Gusta," he said, "you tell him I’m in wrong; will you? Honest to God, I am!" He raised his face suddenly and held it close to the bars. "I will, Archie," she said. "And how’s ma?" "Oh, she’s pretty well." Gusta could not say the things she wished; she felt the presence of Kouka. "Say, Gusta," said Archie, "see Mr. Marriott; tell him to come down here; I want him to take my case. I’ll work and pay him when I get out. Say, Gusta," he went on, "tell him to come down this afternoon. My God, I’ve got to get out of here! Will you? You know where his office is?" "I’ll find it," said Gusta. "It’s in the Wayne Building." Gusta tried to look at Archie; she tried to keep her eyes on his face, on his tumbled yellow hair, on his broad shoulders, broader still because his coat and waistcoat were off, and his white throat was revealed by his open shirt. But she found it hard, because her eyes were constantly challenged by the sights beyond--the cell doors, the men sleeping off their liquor, the restless figures that haunted the shadows, the white faces peering out of the gloom. The smell that came from within was beginning to sicken her. "Oh, Archie," she said, "it must be awful in there!" Archie became suddenly enraged