“Might I not meanwhile see the prisoners Menshoff, mother and son, who are accused of incendiarism?”

“Oh, yes.  Cell No. 21.  Yes, they can be sent for.”

“But might I not see Menshoff in his cell?”

“Oh, you’ll find the waiting-room more pleasant.”

“No.  I should prefer the cell.  It is more interesting.”

“Well, you have found something to be interested in!”

Here the assistant, a smartly-dressed officer, entered the side door.

“Here, see the Prince into Menshoff’s cell, No. 21,” said the inspector to his assistant, “and then take him to the office.  And I’ll go and call—­What’s her name?  Vera Doukhova.”

The inspector’s assistant was young, with dyed moustaches, and diffusing the smell of eau-de-cologne.  “This way, please,” he said to Nekhludoff, with a pleasant smile.  “Our establishment interests you?”

“Yes, it does interest me; and, besides, I look upon it as a duty to help a man who I heard was confined here, though innocent.”

The assistant shrugged his shoulders.

“Yes, that may happen,” he said quietly, politely stepping aside to let the visitor enter, the stinking corridor first.  “But it also happens that they lie.  Here we are.”

The doors of the cells were open, and some of the prisoners were in the corridor.  The assistant nodded slightly to the jailers, and cast a side glance at the prisoners, who, keeping close to the wall, crept back to their cells, or stood like soldiers, with their arms at their sides, following the official with their eyes.  After passing through one corridor, the assistant showed Nekhludoff into another to the left, separated from the first by an iron door.  This corridor was darker, and smelt even worse than the first.  The corridor had doors on both sides, with little holes in them about an inch in diameter.  There was only an old jailer, with an unpleasant face, in this corridor.

“Where is Menshoff?” asked the inspector’s assistant.

“The eighth cell to the left.”

“And these?  Are they occupied?” asked Nekhludoff.

“Yes, all but one.”

CHAPTER LII.

NO. 21.

“May I look in?” asked Nekhludoff.

“Oh, certainly,” answered the assistant, smiling, and turned to the jailer with some question.

Nekhludoff looked into one of the little holes, and saw a tall young man pacing up and down the cell.  When the man heard some one at the door he looked up with a frown, but continued walking up and down.