But I had other things to think about.  I looked up at that grim, gray building.  Behind one of those little barred windows was the Professor.  I should have been angry at Andrew, but somehow it all seemed a kind of dream.  Then I was taken into the hallway of the sheriff’s cottage and in a minute I was talking to a big, bull-necked man with a political moustache.

“You have a prisoner here called Roger Mifflin?” I said.

“My dear Madam, I don’t keep a list of all our inmates in my head.  If you will come to the office we will look up the records.”

I showed him the Governor’s card.  He took it and kept looking at it as though he expected to see the message written there change or fade away.  We walked across a strip of lawn to the prison building.  There, in a big bare office, he ran over a card index.

“Here we are,” he said.  “Roger Mifflin; age, 41; face, oval; complexion, florid; hair, red but not much of it; height, 64 inches; weight, stripped, 120; birthmark....”

“Never mind,” I said.  “That’s the man.  What’s he here for?”

“He’s held in default of bail, pending trial.  The charge is attempt to defraud one Helen McGill, spinster, age...”

“Rubbish!” I said.  “I’m Helen McGill, and the man made no attempt to defraud me.”

“The charge was entered and warrant applied for by your brother, Andrew McGill, acting on your behalf.”

“I never authorized Andrew to act on my behalf.”

“Then do you withdraw the charge?”

“By all means,” I said.  “I’ve a great mind to enter a counter-charge against Andrew and have him arrested.”

“This is all very irregular,” said the sheriff, “but if the prisoner is known to the Governor, I suppose there is no alternative.  I cannot annul the warrant without some recognizance.  According to the laws of this State the next of kin must stand surety for the prisoner’s good behaviour after release.  There is no next of kin....”

“Surely there is!” I said.  “I am the prisoner’s next of kin.”

“What do you mean?” he said.  “In what relationship do you stand to this Roger Mifflin?”

“I intend to marry him just as soon as I can get him away from here.”

He burst into a roar of laughter.  “I guess there’s no stopping you,” he said.  He pinned the Governor’s card to a blue paper on the desk, and began filling in some blanks.

“Well, Miss McGill,” he went on, “don’t take away more than one of my prisoners or I’ll lose my job.  The turnkey will take you up to the cell.  I’m exceedingly sorry:  you can see that the mistake was none of our fault.  Tell the Governor that, will you, when you see him?”

I followed the attendant up two flights of bare, stone stairs, and down a long, whitewashed corridor.  It was a gruesome place; rows and rows of heavy doors with little, barred windows.  I noticed that each door had a combination knob, like a safe.  My knees felt awfully shaky.