Hennion walked into the entrance, and rang the bell.
The jailor was middle-aged, bearded, and smoking a short pipe.
“Can I see Hicks, Sweeney?”
“Got a permit? Oh! Mr. Hennion! Well, it ain't regular, you know.”
“You can stay by.”
“Well, all right. No, but I'll have to lock you in. It's the rules.”
They went up a flight of dark stairs, through a corridor, where a watchman passed them. They stopped at a door, and the jailor turned the key.
“Hicks, gentleman to see you.”