“There ain’t no back door there, sir,” the man responded, with a grin; and I was glad that neither the answer nor the grin was conveyed to my fellow-passenger.

“You are very punctual, Miss Gibson,” I said.  “It is not half-past one yet.”

“Yes; I thought I should like to get there by two, so as to have as long a time with him as is possible without shortening your interview.”

I looked at my companion critically.  She was dressed with rather more than her usual care, and looked, in fact, a very fine lady indeed.  This circumstance, which I noted at first with surprise and then with decided approbation, caused me some inward discomfort, for I had in my mind a very distinct and highly disagreeable picture of the visiting arrangements at a local prison in one of the provinces, at which I had acted temporarily as medical officer.

“I suppose,” I said at length, “it is of no use for me to re-open the question of the advisability of this visit on your part?”

“Not the least,” she replied resolutely, “though I understand and appreciate your motive in wishing to do so.”

“Then,” said I, “if you are really decided, it will be as well for me to prepare you for the ordeal.  I am afraid it will give you a terrible shock.”

“Indeed?” said she.  “Is it so bad?  Tell me what it will be like.”

“In the first place,” I replied, “you must keep in your mind the purpose of a prison like Holloway.  We are going to see an innocent man—­a cultivated and honourable gentleman.  But the ordinary inmates of Holloway are not innocent men; for the most part, the remand cases on the male side are professional criminals, while the women are either petty offenders or chronic inebriates.  Most of them are regular customers at the prison—­such is the idiotic state of the law—­who come into the reception-room like travellers entering a familiar hostelry, address the prison officers by name and demand the usual privileges and extra comforts—­the ‘drunks,’ for instance, generally ask for a dose of bromide to steady their nerves and a light in the cell to keep away the horrors.  And such being the character of the inmates, their friends who visit them are naturally of the same type—­the lowest outpourings of the slums; and it is not surprising to find that the arrangements of the prison are made to fit its ordinary inmates.  The innocent man is a negligible quantity, and no arrangements are made for him or his visitors.”

“But shall we not be taken to Reuben’s cell?” asked Miss Gibson.

“Bless you! no,” I answered; and, determined to give her every inducement to change her mind, I continued:  “I will describe the procedure as I have seen it—­and a very dreadful and shocking sight I found it, I can tell you.  It was while I was acting as a prison doctor in the Midlands that I had this experience.  I was going my round one morning when, passing along a passage, I became aware of a strange, muffled roar from the other side of the wall.